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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



Thoughts 



IN 



Trose and 'Rhyme 




"R. H. LAN6F0RD 
NORTH PLATTE, NEBRASKA 



East St. Louis Publishing Co. 
East St. Louis, III. 



Two Copies liicfivwj |*T^/-" 

JAN 9 1905 ' ^3S22> 

^S ^ XXc Noj j * ' ^ ^ » ' T 
COPY bT/ 



J Ij^^ 



Copyrighted 1904 by 
R. H. LANGFORD 



Introduction 

V^HIS volume is presented to a reading and think- 
ing public, coupled with the hope that it may be 
received with as kindly intentions as those which 
actuated the author in its preparation, and that 
the good which it accomplishes may be measured, 
not only by the wholesome effect it may have on 
those who peruse it, but by the influence for im- 
provement which, through it, they are prompted 
to exert over others. 

The author is not so egotistical as to think he 
has produced anything remarkable for its depth 
of thought or wideness of intellectual scope; in 
fact, no such purpose was entertained, the aim be- 
ing rather to offer to the public something simple 
in style, common-place in character, and of an un- 
objectionable moral tone. 

To relate simple stories, to enlarge homely 
thoughts, to exemplify incidents in the lives of 
those moving in the ordinary walks of life, to re- 
lieve the monotony, furnish food for serious 
thought, interspersed with ideas creating fun and 
laughter, to direct the minds of the poor and lowly 
away from the hardships and drudgery of life to 



Introduction, 

better and nobler ideals and purposes, are the ob- 
jects of this volume, and if these objects are to any 
degree accomplished, the author will be to a com- 
mensurate extent satisfied. 

To the critics it is only necessary to say, the 
author has long had in contemplation to collect in 
one volume the various scraps which this book con- 
tains, so that he may present a copy to each mem- 
ber of his family, to each of his numerous rela- 
tives, and a few to his more intimate friends, so 
that while the good opinion of the critics, on the 
merit of the work, would be very gratifying, their 
adverse criticism would not, in the least, interfere 
with the prime object of its publication. While 
this is true, the author will be pleased if those 
better able to judge than he should find something 
to commend in his modest efforts. 

The poem entitled '^ Cuddle Doon'' and the one 
following, entitled '^The last to Cuddle Doon,'' by 
Alex. Anderson of Edinburgh, Scotland, are pub- 
lished to show the connection between these two 
and ' ' Rab 's Return, ' ' which is intended as a sequel 
to both the others. 

The balance of the work, other than the two 
poems mentioned, belongs exclusively to the 
author ; and while several of the thoughts are but 
crudely expressed, and the ideas poorly embel- 
lished, lacking that polish which could be given to 



Introduction. 

them by one of greater versatility and larger ex- 
perience, yet if the book will only arouse dormant 
thought and accomplish good, the author will feel 
abundantly repaid for the hours he has spent in 
trying — only trying, remember — to court the fickle 
muse of poetry; but the inconstant jade has ever 
been illusive, and the various rhymes are given to 
the public with the statement that it is the regret 
of the author 's life that ]ie is not capable of enter- 
ing into the true spirit of poetry and of song. 

Like the helpless waif, without home or friends, 
who is thrown out on the tumultuous sea of life, 
tossed and buffeted by the angry billows, eventu- 
ally to drift into a quiet and comfortable home, so 
this book is cast out upon the waters of the great 
intellectual sea, to be wafted hither and thither, by 
adverse winds and varying tides, with the hope 
that it may drift into many a home to cheer and 
bless those who may find in its pages words and 
thoughts which shall speak to their hearts and 
make them happier and better for having formed 
the acquaintance, through what he has written, of 
him who, with the most kindly wishes, hopes and 
prayers, subscribes himself, The Authob. 



"Be Just 

^IUHERE are some people in the world who believe 
the road to success is through the downfall of 
others ; and, consequently, they use every effort to 
build themselves up by attempting to tear others 
down. This is a grave error of judgment, and will, 
sooner or later, result in the undoing of him who 
practices such questionable methods. No matter 
how close the competition may be, fairness to 
others is not only required, but is absolutely neces- 
sary to success. Trying to injure others to gain 
an advantage may bring a trancient triumph, but 
the ultimate result will be remorse and shame. 
The golden rule enjoins upon all to **Do unto 
others as you would have them do to you, ' ' and if 
you fail in this regard, you may rest satisfied that 
^'Witli what measure ye mete, the same shall be 
measured to you again.'' Whether you believe it 
or not, this is as unalterable as the laws of the 
Medes and Persians. There is only one way to be 
permanently successful, and that is through being 
absolutely just and fair in every particular. 
Think not that you can pursue underhand methods 
and not be caught. Be sure your sin will find you 



10 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

out, and when the denouement comes, you will be 
the greatest sufferer. Truth will come to light, no 
matter how deeply hidden. It may be concealed 
for a period, but time, inexorable time, brings 
many changes, one of which will be to expose 
deceitful deeds, and they will rise like a frightful 
night-mare to confront and confound us. Be just 
to everyone with whom you deal, and in this way 
establish a reputation for fairness, which is worth 
more to you than rubies or gold. 

No matter what your business is. 

Or what you find to do, 
Be careful that you speak the truth, 

And let your words be few. 
Let your deeds be deeds of kindness, 

On others do not frown — 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down. 

If called to speak of other men, 

Eeply with gentle grace ; 
Remember that this world is large, 

And all may find a place. 
For truthfulness and kindly deeds 

Resolve to gain renown— 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down. 



Thoughts in Prose and Ehyme, 11 

When people do not treat you well, 

And strive your name to blight, 
Be not cast down, remember this : 

^ ^ Truth always seeks the light. ' ' 
Eepay their evil deeds with good, 

Nor meet them with a frown — 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down. 



Do unto others as you would 

To you have others do ; 
Forget you not that others claim 

Some rights as well as you. 
Let perfect truth and honesty 

Your every effort crown — 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down. 

From entertaining evil thoughts 

No good is ever gained ; 
One unjust word with vile intent 

A thousand hearts has pained. 
Put then a bridle on your tongue. 

Wear silence as a crown — 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down. 



12 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Be absolutely just and fair 

In every act of life ; 
Beware of mean back-biting tongues, 

Which breed discord and strife. 
A smile bestowed on friend or foe 

Is better than a frown — 
You cannot build your business up 

By tearing others down. 

Thus will you lead a useful life, 

And at the journey's end 
Your portion shall be joy and peace, 

Nor shall you want a friend. 
The verdict given on your life 

Shall be a glorious crown — 
*^He never built his business up 

By tearing others down.'' 




Be "Brave 

AJuHERE are probably few people who have not 
some secret, known to themselves alone, and which 
they would not divulge to their dearest friend. It 
may be some secret sorrow which they hug to their 
bosom until it becomes a pleasurable pain, the 
want of which would cause them extreme sorrow. 
It is but natural to grieve over some great loss, a 
loved one departed, or something once possessed 
which is lost beyond recall. Yet there is nothing 
gained through mourning over the past, or repin- 
ing at the loss. He is the greatest coward who 
cannot manfully meet troubles when they come; 
and he is the most foolish who tries to cross the 
bridge before he reaches it; or anticipates that it 
is washed away before he arrives at the bank of 
the stream. It is useless to be continually depre- 
cating your fortune; always looking on the dark, 
rather than on the bright side of life, picturing 
clouds and storms, rather than fair weather and 
sunshine. Hope, the anchor of the soul, bids us 
look forward to the dawning of a brighter day. 
Casting sorrow and depression behind, hope points 
out a guiding star which will lead to a brighter 



14 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

future. The greatest contempt should be felt for 
the one who gives up the battle before the field is 
won, but who afterwards comes to claim a share of 
the spoils. He is not entitled to any consideration 
who retreats when the battle is raging, but who 
afterwards returns to share the fruits of the vic- 
tory. Be brave in doing and defending the right, 
but be too cowardly to do wrong. Keep cheering, 
hoping, fighting, and the fruits of a glorious vic- 
tory will be yours to enjoy. Be brave in the de- 
fense of every good principle, be true to yourself, 
your country and your God, and you shall prosper 
beyond your expectations. ^^ Weeping may con- 
tinue for the night, but joy cometh in the morn- 
ing.'' 

In our own hearts we treasure 

The secrets of a life; 
Upheaped may be the measure, 

With pain and trouble rife. 
Each heart hath its own sorrow, 

Each soul its secret pain; 
Why should we troubles borrow, 

Or live them o'er again? 

We gain naught by repining ; 

Are we not architects. 
Degrading or refining 

As each by will elects ? 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 15 

Then say good-bye to sadness, 
Nay, do not frown, but smile; 

Eemember, it is madness 
Your fortune to revile. 



Our troubles are but fleeting. 

Short-lived our keenest pain; 
Our hearts with sorrow bleeding, 

Will heal, and bleed again. 
Sweet hope our lives adorning. 

Farewell to sighs and tears; 
The coming of the morning 

Will drive away our fears. 

How vain with constant weeping. 

The moments to beguile ; 
Though grief and sorrow reaping. 

Bestow a hopeful smile. 
Much of our so-called trouble. 

Much of our pain and care, 
Is as the floating bubble 

Which bursts upon the air. 

Say good-bye to yesterday, 

Begin life o 'er again ; 
Banish past mistakes away, 

Eegrets are all in vain. 



16 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

A brighter day is dawning, 
To cheer the coming hours ; 

Dame fortune now is fawning, 
To strew your path with flowers. 

Fight manfully the battle 

That is in store for you; 
In life 's turmoil and rattle. 

Be earnest, brave and true. 
So when your days are ended, 

And all life 's work is done, 
A voice, in music blended, 

Will sing the victory's won. 




Tommy Jones 

ViUHE men of all nations who have risen to the 
greatest prominence, who have taken high rank in 
their country's affairs, some of whom have reached 
the highest rank in the gift of any people — that of 
President of the United States — have come from 
the humbler walks of life. They have made their 
way against adverse circumstances, have sur- 
mounted trials, overcome difficulties, and reached 
prominent positions, not so much on account of 
their superior intellect, as a sturdy determination, 
backed up by industry, energy and perseverance. 
Fixing their eye on the guiding star of their hope, 
they never lost sight of its twinkling light until it 
had led them to the goal of their ambition. 

The chances to-day are numerous for advance- 
ment, to the boy who bends all his energies to the 
accomplishment of a certain object; but he who 
neglects to take advantage of the splendid oppor- 
tunities afforded to acquire a good education, and 
by prudence, sobriety, forethought and determined 
effort, use what he has acquired for his own ad- 
vancement and profit, will be pushed aside in the 
race, left far in the rear, and eventually become a 
mere nonentity without either place or name in 
the world's affairs. 



18 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

A peculiar lad was Tommy Jones, 

Who lived on a farm in the east ; 
It was said he hated manual work, 

But his books were a constant feast. 
He loved to study of plants and grain. 

And the soil which suited them best: 
He was fond of trying experiments, 

Or making a chemical test. 



His life on the farm was dull to him. 

So he begged to be sent to school ; 
But his father frowned and crossly said : 

^'He would be the family fool.'' 
But Tommy Jones kept plodding along. 

Though the path was hard which he trod; 
He continued to study of grains and plants. 

And the elements of the sod. 



When the farmers met with Tommy Jones, 

They would ask with a covert sneer. 
Where it were better to sow their wheat 

And oats for the following year? 
But their jokes on Tommy were always lost, 

For he answered with words discreet. 
That certain soils were adapted to corn 

And others were suited to wheat. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 19 

He also discussed in a learned way, 

Wliicli they failed to understand, 
Magnesia and Stronium Carbonate, 

And of Alkali in the land ; 
But when he tried to explain to them 

About soda or caustic base, 
They always said it was foolishness, 

As a smile crept over each face. 



But nothing discouraged Tommy Jones, 

He laughed, if they laughed at him ; 
He searched for knowledge on every side 

With commendable pluck and vim. 
He nobly fought the battle of life, 

He studied both early and late; 
He never gave up what he sought to gain. 

Though opposed by an adverse fate. 



But what surprised those farmers most. 

As they plodded along their way. 
Was a letter sent out to ^^ Professor Jones,'' 

Which had come to the town that day. 
Offering him a professor's chair 

In an agricultural school. 
And declaring the one they needed most 

Was Jones, the family fool. 



20 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Carefully treasure the lesson conveyed 

In this story related to you, 
Bearing in mind through the journey of life, 

This adage will ever prove true : 
' ' Knowledge is power when rightly applied, 

It cannot be bartered or sold; 
When thrown in the scale it ever out-weighs 

Much coveted riches and gold/' 



••••••• 

•• •• 



Summer T)ays of Long ^qo 



ITCH lias been written about not looking back- 
ward, and considerable advice has been given 
about the folly of retrospect; but most of it has 
probably been by those who are not old enough to 
appreciate the fact that when a certain age has 
been reached, there is no facination in looking in 
any other direction. It may be those who object 
to backward glances, had but meagre pleasures 
in their youth and, consequently, cannot under- 
stand why old persons are constantly harking 
back to the days of their childhood. There are 
many reasons why an aged person should recall 
the way he spent his younger days, but not many 
why he should try to peer into the future. He 
will arrive at the end of the journey, possibly, all 
too soon, without trying to pierce the veil which 
hides futurity from human eyes. At all events, 
old people derive considerable happiness through 
living over again the days of the past ; recounting 
to the rising generation the peculiar pleasures 
which they enjoyed, when but few years had 
passed over their heads, when care had not, as 
yet, brought wrinkles to their brow, nor streaked 



22 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

their hair with gray. When the energy of the 
spring time of life is passed, when the summer 
season with its crimson and gold has gone; when 
the autumn with its variegated hues of red and 
purple, and yellow and brown has given way to 
winter, when we are passing down the western 
slope, drawing nearer, ever nearer eternity's 
plain, why should we not be permitted, in imagi- 
nation, to gather the flowers, to wander in the 
greenwood, to loiter on the banks of the purling 
streams, to roam over the grassy meadow land, 
and live again among the scenes of other days 1 

Oh summer days ! Sweet summer days ! 

Such as I spent in childhood's hours, 
Wandering o'er the meadows green. 

Or resting 'neath the shady bowers; 
Come back again to me once more. 

With all your joyous, fervent glow, 
Keturn again, oh summer days ! 

Sweet Summer days of long ago. 

Oh summer days! Sweet summer days! 

The birds that dwelt the trees among. 
Were richer plumaged, and their voice 

Was then atuned to sweeter song. 
The honey gathered by the bees. 

Gleaned as they flitted to and fro. 
Was sweeter in those summer days, 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 23 

Oh sunnner days! Sweet summer days! 

The flowers that bloomed upon the hill, 
Were richer laden with perfume, 

The stream flowed clearer past the mill; 
The cows which grazed along its banks. 

At eve returned, sedate and slow. 
In those beauteous summer days, 

Sweet smnmer days of long ago. 



Oh summer days! Sweet summer days! 

The apples ripening on the trees 
Were larger and of sweeter taste. 

Their cheeks were fanned by softer breeze ; 
The wind which swept o 'er wood and plain. 

To us did more majestic grow. 
In those delightful summer days, 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 

Oh summer days! Sweet summer days! 

To pluck the berries growing wild, 
To chase the squirrel through the wood, 

To romp again as when a child, 
I'd sacrifice uncounted wealth, 

Eefuse all riches here below. 
To live once more those summer days. 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 



24 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

Oh summer days ! Sweet summer days ! 

Might I once more become a boy; 
I'd seek eternal springs of youth, 

Your long past pleasures to enjoy; 
Oh ne'er forgotten childhood days, 

Give me your joys again to know, 
Eeturn, oh happy summer days, 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 



Oh summer days! Sweet summer days! 

I never more can call you mine; 
Though you are gone ne'er to return, 

I may not murmur nor repine. 
For memory will oft recall. 

In gentle accents, soft and low. 
The pleasures of those summer days. 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 



Oh summer days ! Sweet summer days ! 

But all my longing is in vain; 
Those golden hours I loved so well, 

To me can not return again. 
No more in youthful joys to share. 

These pleasant scenes, no more to know- 
Good-bye, good-bye, dear summer days. 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 25 

Oh summer days ! Sweet smnmer days ! 

Eternal summer wends its way, 
The present, future and the past, 

Will merge in everlasting day. 
When those heavenly days draw near, 

Yf e will a loving thought bestow 
On those glorious summer days. 

Sweet summer days of long ago. 




That Old Apple Tree 



Y earliest recollection of out door life was 
when, as a toddling child of three or fonr sum- 
mers, my sister Mary took me out to the meadow 
field, and spreading a large quilt underneath the 
clustering boughs of an apple tree, played with 
me there, and attracted my childish fancy with 
delightful fairy tales. My mother was ill, I had 
just recovered from an attack of what the doctors 
called scarlatina, and being somewhat fretful, my 
sister took me away from the house and enter- 
tained me during those bright, summer days so 
that I would not annoy my mother with my petu- 
lancy. For this reason I became attached to that 
untrimmed, old apple tree which always bloomed 
in rich profusion, but which never matured its 
promised fruition, for nearly all its abundant 
bloom fell to the ground, carpeting the earth with 
a layer of blossoms. Beneath its spreading 
branches I spent many a pleasant hour. Under 
its cooling shade I delighted to linger ; and it was 
there, where I could hear the whistle of the ^*Bob 
White" in the adjoining field, watch the robin 
red-breast on the fence near by, and observe the 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 27 

saucy red-headed wood-pecker alight in its 
branches, that I dreamed my first day-dreams of 
youth. It became a favorite haunt of mine, and 
when anything was amiss with me, I would steal 
away to rest beneath its shadowy limbs, or hide 
in its abundant foliage. Stretched on my back, 
luxuriating in the perfume of a thousand apple 
blossoms, with the droning hum of hundreds of 
bees striking pleasantly on my ear, I yielded to 
the drowsiness which crept over me and slept and 
dreamed. All, those were pleasant days! The 
old apple tree is gone and, as an elderly man, 
thousands of miles away from the scenes of my 
youtlv I am trying to draw a lesson from what 
I remember of those happy times. 

An old neglected apple tree. 

Stood in the meadow field; 
Its fruit was not the choicest. 

And scanty was the yield; 
But it always bloomed in spring time, 

With blossoms sweet and rare. 
And lent increasing fragrance to 

The flower-scented air. 



28 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

It flourished in the open field, 

Untrimmed, and all alone; 
And forever through its branches, 

The sobbing wind would moan. 
And strew its fragrant blossoms 

In rich profusion 'round, 
While partly ripened apples fell, 

Unheeded to the ground. 



But a few lived on and ripened, 

With future prospects bright; 
Their rosy cheeks blushed modestly, 

Kissed by the morning light. 
The ripened apples on that tree, 

This adage, old, repeat: 
**A11 things which glitter are not gold," 

For they were bitter-sweet. 

And so it is with mortals here. 

They live, and bud, and bloom ; 
But dangers stand on every hand. 

To push them to the tomb. 
Young lives in grace and beauty born. 

Are withered by a breath; 
The chill winds of adversity 

Will leave them cold in death. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 29 

Yet a few live on and prosper, 

While others droop and die; 
And when old age comes on apace, 

They voice this mournful cry: 
^^Why were we sent into the world. 

Misfortunes sad to meet, 
And learn too late that worldly joys. 

Are often bitter-sweet/* 



Teach us the remnant of our days, 

To count the hours which fly; 
And be prepared to meet the Judge, 

When we are called to die. 
We know not what the morrow brings. 

How short our days and fleet — 
Help us through life to calmly take 

The bitter with the sweet. 



wlfm^ 



M Boyish Fancy 

\PVERY boy lias had his own peculiar flights of 
imagination, and pictured to himself certain con- 
ditions as he supposed them to exist. Every boy, 
too, has had his periods of disappointment and 
depression, when he felt as though all the world 
had combined to oppose his wishes, and as though 
all his friends had forsaken him. Deep is his 
grief, and heart-breaking his sorrow, when he en- 
counters these difficulties for the first time. Steal- 
ing away to brood over what he supposes is the 
greatest pain that will ever reach him during life, 
he has all kinds of childish flights of fancy; pic- 
tures himself to himself as a much abused and 
sadly neglected child, and wonders if some kind 
fairy will not appear and spirit him away to fairy 
land, in which enchanted country he will be re- 
lieved of all his childish troubles. Unfortunately, 
fairies do not come when we long for them the 
most, but only in our dreams, or in beautifully 
constructed stories to please youthful minds. 
There are boys of very vivid imagination and 
sensitive disposition who stand ninety chances 
out of the hundred to be ruined, simply because 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 31 

their parents do not understand their peculiar 
origination, and entertain the erroneous idea that 
all children can be fashioned in a two-by-four-by- 
six mould. This theory is positively untenable, 
and when rigidly applied is extremely dangerous 
to the child. 



When I was a boy of some quite tender years, 

AYith a heart that was tenderer still, 
I drifted along with my hopes and my fears, 

Into problems surpassing my skill. 
While exiled one day on the roof of a shed. 

For some trifling misconduct of mine, 
A thunder-storm gathering its force overhead. 

Gave a view of a vision divine. 



A cloud 'er my heart like the one up above, 
Which shadowed the light of the sun. 

Was shedding its gloom o'er my filial love. 
For to me a slight wrong had been done. 

All earth seemed against me — I felt I must cry- 
But I scarcely had shed a lone tear, 

When stealing a glance at the ominous sky, 
All my grief was dissolved into fear. 



32 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

1 thought the Almighty, whose wrath preachers 
tell, 

Is a thing that we ought to avoid, 
Was kindling the furnaces down there in hell, 

For that I had his angels annoyed; 
Just then came a rift in the cloud, and a beam 

Of the still hidden sun sought the earth ; 
It fell on the spot, as I thought, with a gleam. 

Where my tears and my sorrows had birth. 

In my childish fancy I felt that if I 

Were as good as a child ought to be, 
I might be permitted to climb to the sky. 

On that beam that seemed cast out for me ; 
No ties bound to earth, I was willing to go, 

And for a release thought to pray. 
But I scarcely had uttered a half word or so. 

When a cloud snatched that bright beam away. 

Though the years have brought many pangs of 
regret. 

Which are marked with a life-laden sigh, 
The pain of that moment doth cling to me yet, 

With its thought— and it shall till I die. 
The sunshine of life, like the brightness of day, 

Is frequently dimmed by a cloud; 
No bright beam of hope comes to drive it away 

So it shadows our life like a shroud. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 33 

But I have a fixed hope in a merciful God, 

Who doeth all things for the best, 
That after applying the chastening rod. 

He will take me to dwell with the blest. 
Whenever He calls me to come up above. 

From the darkness of clouds and of night, 
I shall hasten to bask in the beams of His love, 

And dwell with the angels of light. 




T)riftm 

21/ NE Sunday morning, several years ago, ac- 
companied by a very estimable lady, the author 
stood on the bridge which spans the stream flow- 
ing through the town of Carlyle, Illinois; and as 
we gazed into the limpid water, the lady remarked 
that the driftwood floating down the stream re- 
minded her that we were all drifting on the great 
sea of life — drifting and drifting away. The 
statement was both truthful and forcible, and 
furnishes food for much thought. Always drift- 
ing, we are carried forward by wind and tide, 
sometimes we know not where. "We meet and 
drift apart to meet no more. Carried onward by 
the ever flowing stream of time, we soon drop 
out of sight in the great ocean of eternity. In a 
brief period we are forgotten by the many who 
greeted us with a pleasant smile and called us 
' ^friend. '^ As we watched the floatwood striking 
objects here and there, which impeded its pro- 
gress, we were reminded of the difficulties and 
trials of life ; and when the driftwood passed out 
of sight around the bend of the stream, we 
breathed an unconscious sigh and walked silently 
away. We, too, were drifting and would soon 
disappear in the turbid waters of forgetfulness. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 35 

Drifting, drifting and drifting away, 

Out on the ocean of life, 
Mid rolling waves, and the dashing spray, 

With danger and trouble rife ; 
Filled with fear at the mad sea's roar. 

Frightful and striving to pray, 
A life goes out and is known no more — 

Drifting and drifting away. 



Drifting, drifting and drifting along. 

Mid scenes of pleasure and pain ; 
Oft a sad wail, sometimes a glad song. 

Our life is a varied refrain; 
Mourning in sadness, singing in joy. 

Oft blending the right with the wrong. 
The gold of life is mixed with alloy — 

Drifting and drifting along. 



Drifting, drifting and drifting alone. 

Disheartened and in distress; 
Oh how often our fate we bemoan — 

No hand to soothe nor caress. 
In trough or on crest floatwood will ride. 

So we poor mortals are prone 
To rise on the wave or sink in the tide, 

Drifting and drifting alone. 



36 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

Drifting, drifting and drifting away, 
Shut out from the world's gay throng. 

Our life is as a span or a day, 
And the time shall come ere long 

When we shall drift away from the shore, 
Nor anchor nor cables can stay. 

Life's burdens and joys entrammel no more- 
Drifting and drifting away. 



Drifting, drifting and drifting along, 

A light breaks bright on the view, 
'Tis the beacon of gladness and song. 

Which shines for me and for you. 
Hope comes to the heart which is broken, 

We brood no more o'er the wrong; 
Eejoicing, we see the bright token — 

Drifting and drifting along. 



Drifting, drifting and drifting away, 

Watch the bright sunlight of love, 
Growing brighter from day unto day, 

A gift sent down from above ; 
How it gladdens each pain-stricken heart, 

Which strives its voice to obey; 
From its joys may we never depart, 

Drifting and drifting away. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 37 

Drifting, drifting and drifting away, 

Watching the soul-cheering light; 
In our hearts there is joy for each ray 

Dispels the darkness of night. 
The signal shines bright on the portal, 

As ends our life 's closing day ; 
Oh look to that light, dying mortal — 

Drift not, oh, drift not away. 




Lost Moments 

j|<0 one can aiTord to be prodigal of time, no 
matter how advantageous his circumstances. If 
it is true, and there are the gravest reasons for 
believing that it is, that we will be compelled to 
give an account for every idle word spoken, and 
for every precious moment wasted, then no one 
can afford to crowd the entries on the debit side 
of the ledger for fear that he will have difficulty 
in making up his balance sheet. The time allotted 
to man as a sojourner on earth is extremely brief, 
and very uncertain ; and, if he should live out the 
measure of his days, the three score years and 
ten, which is his portion, even then he has no 
surplus time ; but he must dilligently employ each 
fleeting hour in order to accomplish the life work 
which he is expected to complete to the very cap- 
stone. There is something exceedingly painful 
and sad in the thought that most lives are incom- 
plete — not rounded out to the full stature of man- 
hood; and the unfinished condition of the struc- 
ture must, in a measure, be attributed to the care- 
less waste of time which, unfortunately, is one of 
humanity's greatest faults. If the moments which 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 39 

are spent in idleness and frivolity, could be pre- 
served and sold to the highest bidder, when needed 
most, millions would be paid for one short hour 
to enable some one with impoverished soul to 
stay the running of the sands in the hour glass 
of life. Nor is this applicable to the rich alone, 
but to all who neglect to prepare in time for the 
vast interests of eternity. Life is but a fragile 
shell flung up by the waves of eternity's sea, to 
dwell on the sand banks of time but a short space, 
and then, like the wave which wastes its strength 
on the rock-bound shore, it rolls back into eternity 
and is remembered no more. ^^Procrastination 
is the thief of time.'' 



Lost, lost a precious string* of pearls, of countless, 
endless worth, 

Owned by the human family since fleeting time 
had birth; 

Strewn far and wide on every hand, spurned, 
wasted, stolen, strayed; 

Eejected by the rich and poor, unheeded and mis- 
laid. 

These precious pearls have wasted been by man 
in every land; 

Viewed as possessing little worth, destroyed with 
careless hand; 



40 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Yet to possess them once again men offer count- 
less gold; 

In value they would trade for them an hundred 
thousand fold. 



Not all the pearls found in the sea, nor diamonds 

in each crown, 
In worth can be compared to them, nor weigh 

these treasures down; 
Pure opals, rubies, amethysts, stones valued, rich 

and rare, 
Nor priceless jeweled diadems can with these 

pearls compare. 
No computation known to man, no modern plan- 
ned device. 
Can place an estimate on them, or figure out their 

price ; 
Monarchs would give their empires up, and kings 

their kingly sway. 
To hold again the precious gems, they, careless, 

cast away. 



The rich man at the point of death, with hour 
glass at his hand, 

Would give his wealth, if it would stay the run- 
ning of the sand. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 41 

The poor and lowly cottager, though wracked 

with grief and pain, 
Would sacrifice his dearest hopes to win them 

back again. 
The high, the low, the rich, the poor, when comes 

life's closing day. 
Look on the future with alarm, and beg, and plead, 

and pray. 
That dissolution may be stayed, but for one little 

hour, 
And that the stalking monster — death — be shorn 

of all his power. 

The saddest action of our life is when we count 
the cost. 

Of all the moments thrown away, of all the min- 
utes lost; 

Oh, we would give our all of earth, all fame and 
riches spurn, 

If at the last we then could have the wasted hours 
return. 

Oh, Father Time! be kind to us, return the mo- 
ments gone. 

Give back what we have spurned, before eternity 
shall dawn. 

We beg, yea, on our knees implore, and yet we 
ask in vain — 

The moments which are thrown away, will not 
return again. 



My Sainted Mother 

JkO one can take a mother's place. No one can 
understand a mother's love. Motherhood has 
come and it fills the soul of the young wife with 
a sanctified joy. Other loves may wax and wane, 
but mother's love never grows weary, it never 
fails, never ends, but continues to run through 
eternities of time. The love for the young hus- 
band, be it ever so tender, must make place in 
favor of this newly awakened happiness. He who 
in the days of courtship was all in all, he who was 
looked upon as a king by the blushing young bride, 
learns that he has a formidable rival in the lovely 
babe which nestles in the fond mother 's arms. The 
babe absorbs her thought and is her constant care. 
In her eyes there is a world of love, and in her 
soul an ecstacy of joy. Month after month she 
watches the development of the child. His tod- 
dling steps are to her a new found happiness ; his 
prattling words are sweet music to her ears. He 
grows to boyhood beneath her tender care. She 
closely guards his youthful days. With motherly 
solicitude she watches him grow to stately man- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 43 

hood. With joy she beholds a young wife seated 
on the throne of her son's heart, where she has 
formerly reigned supreme, but this does not 
weaken her solicitude nor change the current of 
her affection. Mother is the angel of the house- 
hold, hovering everywhere, always trying to en- 
hance the happiness of her children. A wife's 
devotion pales before the intensity of a mother's 
love. Boys love your mothers; treat them with 
the greatest kindness and affection, ever bearing 
the fact in mind that no matter how tenderly, how 
jovingly you may treat them, you can never repay 
them for all the care, anxiety and tenderness 
they have bestowed on you. Mother's hair is 
streaked with gray, and the wrinkles mark her 
care-worn face; then cherish her as you would 
no other for she is your best, your truest friend. 
^'Be good to dear, old mother for there's none 
can take her place. ' ' 

While yet a babe of tender years. 

With childish wants and trouble. 
When I was filled with griefs and fears, 

Which vanished as a bubble; 
Who clasped me in her gentle arms, 

And did with kisses smother? 
Yv^ho quieted my false alarms! 

My dear, old sainted mother. 



44 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Time moved apace, at length I grew 

To play with ring and rattle; 
Those happy days which then I knew, 

Days filled with childish prattle! 
AVho was it soothed with fond caress, 

My grief, my pain and bother, 
And with her smiles wonld cheer and blesS 1 

My kind, old sainted mother. 



And when I lumbered off to school. 

With sums my brain to addle; 
To break the dear, old teacher's rule, 

Or in the brook to paddle, 
AVho was it guarded over me I 

Indeed it was no other. 
Who caused my boyish grief to flee. 

But my old, sainted mother. 



In after years on business bent; 

Or seeking giddy pleasure, 
Who was it all her moments spent, 

Nor had a minute's leisure, 
To save me from each foolish plan, 

Some heedless deed or other. 
Or stay the downward course I ran! 

My loving, sainted mother. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. ' 45 

Whose gentle ways cling to me still, 

Of all my life the leaven, 
And monld my arbitrary will. 

Though she has gone to heaven? 
^Tis hers, sweet friend of other days. 

It could not be another. 
Who fills my life with hopeful rays, 

Mv blessed, sainted mother. 



Now, that old age comes on apace, 

I turn to other places ; 
I see again her smiling face. 

Her loveliness and graces. 
I pine for mother's kindly ways, 

I want, or love no other; 
Again I long to live those days 

With my old, sainted mother. 



Oh, mother! dear, old friend of mine. 

It binds as with a tether, 
To think of that pure life of thine — 

The days we spent together. 
So when my life is all complete, 

And I am free from bother, 
In heaven I expect to meet 

My pure, angelic mother. 



Wearing a Mask 

^ LAEGEbook could be written on the subject of 
wearing masks, not the material ones which are 
worn at masked balls and entertainments of like 
character, but those which are worn by various 
persons, as they pass along life's great thorough- 
fare, who attempt to mask their faces so they 
shall not appear to be the index of the mind. It is 
astonishing how successfully many carry out their 
determination not to allow any one to read from 
the face, the emotions which are lurking in the 
heart. Masks are worn by persons moving in all 
the different avenues of life, sometimes for good, 
sometimes for evil purposes; but worn they are, 
and will be so long as man is actuated by the same 
passions and desires as now control his move- 
ments. What a world of deception and sorrow, 
misery and poverty, evil passions and vile desires, 
are hidden beneath the masks worn by those mov- 
ing in the various walks of life. If some of our 
supposed friends were to remove their masks, 
what horrid pictures of malice, envy, hatred and 
sin would we behold. What a severing of friend- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 47 

]y ties would occur. What clianges would it make 
in the relative positions occupied by divers per- 
sons. (These thoughts were suggested by the 
finding of an old, black mask which some one had 
worn at a masked ball, and afterwards thrown 
aside as of no more value or benefit). 



Behind a mask each living soul 

Is lurking in disguise, 
Preparing for itself a goal, 

Deciding ill or wise. 
Masks have ever been the shield 

To cloak each vile intent. 
Since sin and wickedness had birth, 

And sordid sentiment. 

If every mask from face were torn, 

And from each sinful heart; 
If truth should every brow adorn, 

What joy would it impart! 
Grave secrets now in caskets closed, 

Its searching light would feel; 
The kings of earth would be deposed. 

And to the lowly kneel. 



48 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

The poor would take a higher place, 

The rich and proud would fall; 
And those who dwell in wretched want, 

Yv^ould live in gilded hall. 
He who has grasped another's wealth, 

Would restitution make; 
While others steeped in guilt and wrong, 

Would sin and shame forsake. 



Usurpers then would yield their place, 

And nature's kings would reign; 
Each truthful man, with noble grace, 

His rightful place regain. 
This world would be a heaven below, 

All fraud be trodden down; 
And *' Truth" would be the grand device 

To decorate each crown. 




In Memoriam 

'2uHE silent city with its narrow doorways, lonely 
rooms and dreary chambers is constantly increas- 
ing its population, yet Death, the all-powerful 
monarch of the grave's dominion, is never satis- 
fied, and never cries out ^^It is enough/' Tem- 
poral kings who have absolute sway over millions 
of people, must finally become subjects of this 
despotic ruler, who is no respector of persons, 
but, as suits his arbitrary will, calls on the high, 
the low, the rich and the poor, and the tribute they 
must pay is life itself. No one can effect a com- 
promise, no one can evade the stern demand. The 
penalty is fixed, and the sentence will not be com- 
muted. About this question there is no dispute. 
The difference comes, not as to the inevitable end- 
ing of a life on earth, but as to the disposition of 
the soul, after death has closed our temporal ex- 
istence. No attempt will be made to argue this 
disputed point — that is left to the theologians and 
to those who differ from them in opinion. This 
simple statement is made, which can be accepted 
or rejected, as suits the reader's peculiar idea. 



50 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

The believer in a future state and in future re- 
wards and punishments has the advantage. If 
the existence of such a state is a myth, as some 
profess to believe, the life which the Christian 
lives, makes of him a good citizen — a man to be 
respected and honored; while, if his future hap- 
piness depends on his actions here, and he has 
lived up to the requirements, he has rendered 
himself doubly safe — safe to inbure the respect of 
his fellowmen, and safe to reap the reward of his 
Christian life. This short statement, made to 
reasonable, thinking men along any other line, 
would influence them to stand on the safe side, 
but when it comes to matters of eternity, we are 
surely a perverse and stiff-necked generation. 



Gone to the grave is our loved one. 

Gone in his manhood's might; 
Said farewell to the scenes of earth. 

To dwell in realms of light. 
Passed out, as a ship in the night. 

Sailed from the earth away, 
His spirit has taken its flight. 

To dwell in endless day. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 51 

Our hearts are filled with tenderness, 

For him we sadly mourn; 
We wish to hear his cheery voice, 

We long for his return. 
How short and weak is human life — 

Uncertain are the years 
Allotted dying mortals here, 

And filled with pain and fears. 



We have no sure abiding place, 

This earth is not our home ; 
Though we outlive our three-score years, 

The end of life must come. 
We are but travelers here below. 

Soon death with visage pale, 
Will clutch our frail mortality. 

Our temporal life assail. 



But death can not retard the flight 

Of the immortal soul; 
That part must wing its unknown way 

To reach its destined goal; 
No church, nor priest, nor harping creed 

Controls the spirit mind; 
For he is nearest Christ whose life 

Is truthful, pure and kind. 



52 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

So while we mourn departed friends, 

While tears of sorrow fall, 
We have a never failing hope. 

When comes the Judge's call, 
That he who lived an upright life, 

Will hear the Savior's plea: 
^^In living right and doing right. 

This man resembles me.'' 



And so, though we are filled with grief. 

And harbor doubts and fears. 
The One who doeth all things well. 

Shall wipe away our tears. 
With kindly smile, and tender love. 

The Master looketh down; 
And saith to him: ^^This is thy seat, 

And this thy kingly crown." 



4- 




Mother's Love" 



Mother's Love 



fll/F all the passions and desires found in the 
human heart, there is nothing to compare with 
that love known only to her whom we are delighted 
to call mother. Mother's love is something which 
cannot be understood, her affection cannot be 
fathomed. For the sake of her child she will bear 
every known hardship, suffer untold pain, the 
agonies of which are as joys to her, if through 
bearing them, she can save her child. Reviewing 
the history of the past, it is equally as gratifying 
as it is surprising, to note how much the mothers 
have contributed to the civilization and advance- 
ment of the great nations of the world. Select a 
great man, one who in any period of the world's 
history, is noted as a leader in his time, either as 
soldier, philosopher, painter, sculptor, preacher, 
writer, ruler, traveler, inventor, discoverer, his- 
torian or poet, and in most instances, a good, sen- 
sible, loyal woman, either mother, wife, sister, 
daughter or friend, will be found standing by his 
side, and to whom, not infrequently, he owes his 
greatest achievements. Her friendship, devotion 



54 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

and love have been his chief support in his hours 
of discouragement, despondency, doubt and fear; 
and in the hour of his success, although she has 
contributed much to his final triumph, she bestows 
all the praise on him, and remains by his side to 
ascribe to him the glory. We agree with those 
who claim that woman 's sphere is in the home, but 
her home is the world. The world today is feeling 
her influence as it was never felt before, and is 
the better for that influence. Mother's sphere is 
in the home, to train by precept and by example, 
the girls to become good, pure women, and the 
boys to become brave, loyal men; and then follow 
them with her prayers and tears so that they may 
not forsake her teachings nor disgrace her 
womanhood. 



The poet may sing of the op'ning spring, 
Of the beautiful days of May; 

Of the buds and blossoms they will bring. 
When the snows are melted away. 

Soldiers have taught of the battles fought. 
Of the blood that was freely shed ; 

Of the sorrows brought and havoc wrought 
Of the fields that were strewn with dead. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 55 

Travelers may tell of all that befell, 
As they wandered the world around, 

Of the poor who in poverty dwell. 
Or of seeing a ruler crowned. 



The love-sick swain may sing a refram, 
Of a loved one, night and morn. 

Chanting his love again and again. 
As a passion of heaven born. 

The lover of God may kiss the rod, 
And tell of its chastening power. 

That holy love which is shed abroad 
In his bosom from hour to hour. 

I speak of a love which comes from above, 
By the heavenly Father blest; 

I sing of a mother's endless love. 
The purest and sweetest and best. 



Over the Sea 

QpVERY fireside has its vacant cliair. The place 
once occupied by a loved one is now empty, and 
we are left to mourn the loss. The once merry 
laughter is heard no more, the cheery voice is 
stilled in death, and we are left alone to weep. 
Gone to that land which lies far beyond the sea 
of life, some of our friends have landed on eterni- 
ty's shore, and are sharing the joys of those who 
dwell in the eternal city. It is a happy thought 
to believe that our departed friends have gone to 
that land where tears are never shed, and where 
sorrow and pain are known no more. However 
skeptical some may be about the future rewards 
and punishments meted out to those who have 
reached the age of maturity, and lived many years 
in this sorrowful world, before taking their jour- 
ney with the lone boatman across the river of 
death, we are doubly confident that the tender 
flovv-ers placed in our care by the great Gardener, 
and in His wisdom taken away again before they 
had time to bud and bloom, will be transplanted 
in the heavenly garden, where they will grow and 
mature and bring forth rich fruition. When we 
remember the words of the Savior, *^ Suffer little 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 57 

cMldreiij and forbid them not to come unto Me, 
for of such is the kingdom of heaven,'* we have 
no lingering doubt regarding the future happiness 
of the little lambs whom a loving Savior has taken 
to the upper fold. The little boy about whom 
this poem was written fell asleep in his father's 
arms, trying to repeat what his papa was telling 
him about a land far over the sea, and he awoke 
in the arms of Him who, while on earth, loved lit- 
tle children, and loveth them still, extending that 
love to all those who become as pure as they. 

My little boy played at horse one day, 

As he laughed and shouted for glee; 
And he fixed the chairs and played away, 

As he prattled and talked to me; 
, And he said, ^'Papa, you may take a chair, 

For the trip to all is free; 
It takes not long, we will soon be there, 

To a land far over the sea." 

So I mounted a chair and rocked and sang, 

Till he shouted aloud for joy; 
His childish heart never felt a pang. 

It was pleasure without alloy. 
I told him of folk of olden time, 

Of high and of lowly degree; 
I sang him a song in childish rhyme, 

Of a land far over the sea. 



58 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

So we rode along with shout and cry, 

All over the carpeted floor; 
And a joyous light refilled my eye — 

I had ridden that way before. 
When a romping boy 'twas childish bliss, 

A pleasure of pleasures to be, 
Wliere I could ride on a chair like this, 

To a land far over the sea. 



My little boy shouted, laughed and whipped, 

The horses galloped and pranced ; 
As over the parlor floor they skipped. 

Our hearts with merriment danced. 
So onward and onward still we rode, 

Happy, light-hearted and free. 
Traveling on to a pleasant abode. 

To a land far over the sea. 



But now I weep and sorrow and sigh. 

My dear one forever has gone ; 
My heart gives out a desolate cry, 

I travel life's journey alone. 
Death has stolen the flower away, 

The Gardener presented to me ; 
It journeyed far one sorrowful day. 

To a laud far over the sea. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rh^me, 



59 



Weep not, oh heart, be cheerful, not sad- 

On earth I know him no more ; 
But the thought ever maketh me glad, 

My boy has gone on before. 
Now he is waiting, waiting up there, 

And calling and calling to me : 
^^Papa, dear papa, lovely and fair. 

Is this land far over the sea I ' ' 



The Seasons of Life 

/^ S the year is divided into four seasons, so it is 
customary to speak of the four divisions of life, 
childhood, youth, manhood and old age. Child- 
hood is compared to the spring time. When dame 
nature first begins to feel the genial rays of the 
sun, when the roots in the earth begin to awaken 
into life, when the grass begins to peep from its 
winter bed and take on a shade of green, when the 
leaves of the flowers begin to open and the embryo 
buds begin to show their earliest form; when the 
migratory birds return and enliven the early 
morning with their cheerful songs ; when the lamb- 
kins skip and play in the meadow field, and every- 
thing has the appearance of life and health and 
joy — such is the spring time of life with its inno- 
cent pleasures, its gaiety and its song. Following 
rapidly after the short-lived days of spring, are 
the summer days of youth, when the birds are 
nesting in the trees, when the flowers are in bloom, 
when the grain is growing in the fields, when the 
apples are forming on the trees and each day 
turning their rosy cheeks to the summer sun as 
they approach maturity— so are the days of youth 
with their hopes, their ambitions, their amuse- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 61 

ments and their joys. Next come the autumnal 
clays with their loads of luscious fruit, their fields 
of golden grain; when all nature seems to have 
matured, when the store-houses are bursting with 
plenty, when abundance and wealth are scattered 
on every hand. The leaves as they fall are tinged 
with brown, the flowers are beginning to lose the 
freshness of their bloom, an indication to man that 
he, too, will begin to droop and fail when come the 
autumnal days of life. Soon the winter of life 
with its frosts and its snows, its dreariness, its 
regrets and its sorrows, will come, reminding us 
that there can be no life without death, no perfect 
state without the springing, blooming^ ripening 
period, and no future life without the transition 
period from mortality to immortalit}^. 

I sat in my study one bright summer day. 

And watched little children go skipping along; 

How heedlessly moments with them fled away. 
How merry their hearts, and how joyous their 
song ! 

I viewed them pass by with thoughts painful and 
sad. 

For I felt that too soon their childhood would 
cease ; 

A few fleeting moments their lives would be glad, 
And then from earth's cares they would sigh 
for release. 



62 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

I scarce turned my eyes from that summer day 
scene, 
When I looked once again, but was sorely dis- 
mayed, 
For I saw them no more, yet where they had been, 
Young men and young women their graces dis- 
played. 
Childhood's sweet pleasures were hidden from 
view, 
Then each with high hopes planted deep in his 
heart. 
Paused to bid friends but a kindly adieu. 
Nor seemed he to sorrow when forced to depart. 

I saw them again as they passed by the door, 

The remnant now left of that once happy 
throng; 
No gay childish laughter I heard as of yore — 

In life's dizzy whirl they were hurried along. 
Many greedy to earn the world's sordid wealth, 

Had battled and struggled until they were gray ; 
While others, discouraged and broken in health. 

Had sunk in the tide and been carried away. 

I paused once again to behold the loved place. 

Where children had sported a few days before ; 
But a few aged people with old-fashioned grace, 

Passed slowly along and I saw them no more. 
Of all those bright children so happy and gay. 

That skipped past my study in innocent glee. 
But a few hoary heads now dotted the way. 

The others were wrecked on life 's turbulent sea. 



VJU HAT hope is the anchor of the soul, will be ad- 
mitted by every one who, when his heart is pierced 
with disappointment and sorrow, has felt its 
cheery rays enter his soul, banish the shadows 
from his bosom, and supply him with renewed 
strength to fight his adversaries or surmount the 
difficulties that lie in his pathway. The ship- 
wrecked mariner, tossed and dashed by the angry 
billows, gives up in despair, resigns himself to his 
fate, and is ready to sink in a watery grave, while 
the waves sing a mournful requiem over his dis- 
appearing form. All at once his watchful eyes 
observe a passing sail which, like an angel of 
mercy clad in snow-white robes, draws nearer and 
nearer — every sense is instantly on the alert, his 
heart is filled with hope, and as he feels it thrill 
his frame, quickening every fibre into action, he 
determines to make one last mighty effort. He 
moves forward in the angry waters, now rising on 
foam-crowned crest, now sinking in the trough of 
the sea, between the raging billows. Hope urges 
him onward, whispering to him in tones sweeter 
far than lover's gentlest voice, that his efforts 



64 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

will not be in vain. As the ship rounds to, he 
catches a glimpse of the fluttering sail. There 
reaches his ear first a confused sound, then ^^Ahoy 
there, ' ' comes quavering over the water ; he bears 
up a little longer; soon he feels himself grasped 
with rough but kindly hands ; he is lifted into the 
yawl-boat; they are steering for the ship — ^he is 
saved. Oh, hope, thrice blessed, heavenly hope! 
what hast thou not done to cheer the disconsolate, 
down-hearted and distressed! Filling the heart 
witth rays of light, cheering the soul with beams 
of joy, keeping us from drifting down to misery 
and death, thou art surely the anchor of the soul. 
Thou art the guiding star which leads us away 
from ourselves, and anchors us safe in a Eedeem- 
er's love. 



When the sky of my life is with clouds overcast. 
When I fear that my troubles forever will last. 
Then hope, blessed hope, my sure anchor and stay, 
Comes to my relief and removes them away. 
So when I am troubled with sorrow and pain. 
Which dash like the billows that break on the main, 
Like the star which guides the lone traveler at 

night, 
Hope comes to my aid, and directs me aright. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 65 

And all through my life as the older I grow, 
Hope shines like a beacon with much brighter 

glow; 
And. while I sojourn through a country like this, 
Its rays to my soul bring sweet comfort and bliss. 
When the grim monster, death, shall call upon me, 
And I from his clutches shall strive to be free, 
Then hope, blessed hope, bids me never despair, 
And points to a home free from sorrow and care. 



When my last hour comes, when I grapple with 

death. 
The song I shall sing with my last fleeting breath, 
Shall be that sweet hope to poor mortals was 

given, 
To lead them from earth through the portals of 

heaven. 
And when I shall meet with the great ransomed 

throng, 
I shall praise my Eedeemer in triumphant song. 
Till the echoes resound through the realms of the 

blest 
For hope anchored safe in the haven of rest. 



// / Were a Man 

l^AS a boy ever lived in the world who has not 
some time used the above expression; and often, 
too, it has been brought forth as a just accusation 
against the ill treatment he has received from 
those older than himself? The susceptibility and 
inquiring disposition of the average boy are re- 
markable. The parent who fails to recognize and 
foster the questioning nature of his child, does 
an injury to the embryo man which is often irre- 
parable. Dam the stream of interrogation by 
stern rebuff and unsatisfactory repjies, and you 
shut off the most interesting method which the 
child possesses to gain knowledge. You cannot 
tell by what peculiar trend of thought a boy 
reaches a certain conclusion; and often one word, 
kindly spoken, will raise him from a maze of doubt 
and place his feet on a solid foundation. Do not 
refuse to answer any reasonable question your 
boy may ask, and answer it, too, in a pleasant, 
interesting manner, always remembering that you 
were once a child, with a child's thoughts and de- 
sires, and how often your sensitive nature was 
offended, when you failed to receive satisfactory 
answers to your questions. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 67 

If I were a man, if I were a man, 

And a boy should question me. 
About strange things he had heard or seen. 

Of the land, or the deep blue sea; 
Or the sky, or clouds, or wind, or rain, 

I would answer him in a way 
That would cause his childish heart to bound, 

A smile o'er his face to play. 



If I were a man, if I were a man. 

When the holidays drew near, 
I would buy my boy the prettiest toy, 

For the Christmas and New Year; 
A chest of tools and a spinning top, too, 

So that he could work or play — 
When the winter came with its frost and snow, 

I would buy him a handsome sleigh. 



If I were a man, if I were a man, 

I would try to understand 
What pleases a little boy best of all. 

And place it near to his hand. 
If it were a book or a hobby horse, 

A drum or a bat and ball, 
I'd see that he had what he wanted most. 

If it were a baby doll. 



68 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

If I were a man^ if I were a man, 

And a boy to the circus went, 
I'd think of the days long passed away, 

When I crawled beneath the tent 
To see the lion and the elephant, 

And the clown with the painted face; 
And the mule that the boys all tried to ride, 

And the Shetland pony race. 



If I were a man, if I were a man. 

And a boy would questions ask, 
I would answer him with a pleasant smile, 

And assist him with his task. 
I would strive in an earnest, pleasant way, 

In a gentle voice and kind. 
To supply him with all important facts, 

To improve his youthful mind. 



If I were a man, if I were a man, 

I would not frown on a boy; 
But, instead, I would do the best I could 

To enhance his every joy. 
I would sympathize with his childish griefs, 

And his troubles strive to stay; 
And though I were filled with sorrow and pain, 

I would wipe his tears away. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 69 

If I were a man, if I were a man, 

I 'd be a boy with the boys ; 
I'd join in their fun and frolics as well, 

And share in their griefs and joys. 
I'd never grow old, nor crabbed, nor cross, 

Nor tire of innocent fun; 
I would be as jolly as I knew how. 

Till the race of life was run. 



If I were a man, if I were a man, 

And a boy of mine should stray 
Away from the path of truth and right, 

I'd not forsake him though his stay. 
With the filthy swine and husks was long. 

And repentance came but slow — 
**As the twig is bent, the tree is inclined. 

And he would return, I know. 



If I were a nian, if I were a man. 

But the ^4f" is in the way; 
Though, as the passing years fly rapidly, 

That time is coming some day; 
Then I will show to the men of now, 

What I will accomplish then. 
For wonderful things will come to pass. 

When the boys become the men. 



// / Were a Boy 

(tCliHEN boys we long to be men. We count the 
slowly passing years, and wait impatiently for 
the time to come when we shall step beyond the 
confines of youth, and assume the responsibility 
of manhood. As boys we had wonderful day- 
dreams of what we would accomplish when the 
opportunity was afforded us to bring our brains 
and wisdom into operation. The world would 
hear from us; our exploits would be the wonder 
of the age; our achievements would go ringing 
down the corridors of time; through our efforts 
the great questions of the day would be satisfac- 
torily settled; through our ability, judgment and 
tact, honor, wealth and fame would be our por- 
tion. Our voice would be heard in legislative 
halls; our supreme efforts would be for the down- 
trodden and oppressed ; the plaudits of the people 
would be heard in loud acclaim, and general popu- 
larity would be our reward. Beautiful castles! 
Fascinating dreams! When manhood with its 
sorrows, disappointments and cares is ours to pos- 
sess, when responsibilities weigh us down, when 
adversity steals our riches and our friends, when 
hope droops and almost dies, and we lose faith in 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 71 

human honesty — when these feelings overshadow 
our lives, we revert with longing thought to the 
days of our childhood, when we were free from 
the deceit, treachery and inhumanity of man. 
There are those in the world today who would 
barter riches and fame, position and power, if 
they couid turn away from the responsibilities of 
manhood and Jive over again the pleasant days 
they once enjoyed, when they were young and 
free from care. They cry out in an agony of spirit, 
^ ' Oh, that I were a boy again. ' ' 

If I were a boj^, if I were a boy. 

If the time would backward flow, 
I would gladly stay as young as I was 

In the days of long ago. 
For I have borne all the sorrow and pain. 

Disappointments, grief and fears. 
Which come to the one who is bound to meet 

The troubles of manhood's years. 

If I were a boy, if I were a boy, 

With the knowledge I have gained, 
I would have no wish to become a man, 

With a conscience seared and stained; 
But I would hope to continue young. 

Nor join in the world's fierce strife; 
I would be contented ever to live 

A happy and boyish life. 



72 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

If I were a boy, if I were a boy, 

I would while the hours away, 
Joining in every innocent sport, 

And every childish play. 
I would never bestow one longing thought 

How the sands in the hour glass ran, 
I would hope the day was far away, 

When I would become a man. 



If I were a boy, if I were a boy, 

And feeling as I now feel. 
Having learned the ways of the world so well, 

And its tendency to deal 
Unfairly, to gain an advantage short. 

As a mortal's briefest span, 
I would turn away to my childish play. 

Nor want to become a man. 



If I were a boy, if I were a boy. 

With the insight I possess 
Of the parent 's grief when their children rush 

Into vice and wickedness, 
I would strive to undo the foolish deeds 

I'd done in my youthful past. 
And prove to them that their prayers had been 

Like bread on the waters cast. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 73 

If I were a boy, if I were a boy, 

But why should I speculate? 
For to be a boy but once in a life. 

Is a boy's predestined fate; 
And the worst of it is, he cannot change 

One whit from the Maker's plan; 
He must move forward until he becomes 

That thing which is called a man. 



If I were a boy, if I were a boy. 

And knew what remained in store — 
But the little word ^4f " is in the way, 

As many have learned before. 
It is in the way, and is bound to stay. 

So I shall do what I can. 
To show all the boys I 'm young in heart, 

Although I'm an aged man. 




The Sleigh Ride 



N many parts of this country, with its variable 
climate, what a sleigh ride means is scarcely un- 
derstood. Peop;e who have lived in the Northern 
states, where the snow falls in abundance, and 
the climatic conditions are of a character to pre- 
vent its melting away rapidly, can appreciate what 
it means to enjoy an old-fashioned, country sleigh 
ride. When the stars are shining brightly, and 
the silvery moon floats silently along, while the 
old man who dwells therein, through the flitting 
clouds makes a multitude of grotesque faces, which 
cast their weird shadows on the gleaming snow, 
how delightful, with a pair of spirited horses 
hitched to a farmer's sleigh, and wraps and robes 
to defy old Boreus in his attempts to steal the 
warmith and chill the blood of the participants, to 
dash away at a furious rate along the snow-cover- 
ed highway, fifteen or twenty miles; to enjoy the 
pleasures of a country dance and partake of the 
bountiful repast, the good, kind-hearted house- 
wife — -the impromptu hostess of the evening — 
knows so well how to prepare. To those who have 
not participated in such an event, and are igno- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 75 

rant of the delightful experience, it can truthfully 
be said, there is no evening's enjoyment to com- 
pare with it, especially when the company is com- 
posed of kindred spirits, whose greatest desire is 
to promote the pleasure and enhance the happi- 
ness of each other. Sometimes several sleigh 
loads start out together headed for the same desti- 
nation, and then it is a race from start to finish 
to ascertain what team shall lead; and not infre- 
quently some of them are overturned in the snow, 
to the great amusement of their more fortunate 
comrades. Sometimes, too, a breakdown adds to, 
rather than detracts from the night's enjoyment. 



Hark to the jingle of the bells. 

Oh, how the tinkling falls and swells. 

As restive horses prance around; 
Dull care from every brow has fled, 
As gliding forward in each sled. 

They lightly skim the frozen ground. 

Now hear each merry laughing voice — 
The boys and girls are making choice 

Of their companions for the drive; 
The swiftest horses take the lead. 
While each contests the others speed — 

To lead the way each team will strive. 



76 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

But soon is seen the farm house light, 
Shining and twinkling in the night — 

Expectant comfort fills the mind; 
Onward over the snow they dash, 
The horses feel the stinging lash, 

And swirling trees are left behind. 



Their furious speed they moderate. 
Each smoking team stands at the gate, 

While mirthful boys and girls alight; 
The dogs run out and yelp and bark, 
To see a crowd out for a lark. 

Prepared to dance far into night. 

They ^ ^ trip the light, fantastic toe, ' ^ 
Till ceaseless time with onward flow 

Proclaims too soon the midnight hour; 
Each joins the host in rich repast, 
But one more dance — it is the last — 

Then they must break its subtle power. 

The whispered words of kind good-night 
Are spoken 'neath the moon's pale light. 

Then for the swift returning ride; 
Each maiden's waist by arm caressed. 
Each maiden's hand by sweetheart pressed, 

As homeward bound they smoothly glide. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 11 

O'er snow with lightning speed they fly, 
With ringing shout and joyous cry, 

Most pleasantly they move along; 
When without warning something breaks, 
All roll out in the white snow flakes, 

Then quickly stops their merry song. 



The sleigh has undergone repair — 
They move along with greater care — 

More cautiously they forward roam; 
While mingling with the midnight air. 
Each voice of boy and maiden fair 

Unites in singing ^^Home, sweet home. 




The Fiftieth Mile Stone 

^ COMPARATIVELY small number of the 
teeming millions born into the world ever reach 
the fiftieth mile stone. One of the most signifi- 
cant land marks encountered on life's pathway is 
this distinguishing characteristic, and he who 
reaches it has probably arrived at the most im- 
portant event in his earthly existence. From the 
eminent position which he now occupies, with ma- 
tured judgment and wide experience, he can take 
a helpful retrospective view of the past and form- 
ulate judicious plans for the future. The old state- 
ment that, after fifty years of life have passed 
away, man begins to lose his keenness of percep- 
tion, his energy and his ability to perform great 
deeds, is not borne out by the facts placed con- 
spicuously before us in the history of men of 
prominence and usefulness. Many men who have 
accomplished much more than the ordinary in 
their chosen vocation, have been comparatively 
unknown until the half-century mark has been 
reached; and it is a source of considerable grat- 
ification to the man of middle age to observe that, 
even in this fast age, when any great crisis threat- 
ens the country's welfare, the advice of those who 
have reached the age of ripe experience is sought 




HENRY 7). SEXTON, 

East St. Louis, Illinois. 

Passed "The Fiftieth Mile Stone" 
November 18, 1904. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 79 

rather than the opinion of the younger men who 
have not arrived at the full stature of manhood. 
While there are numerous instances of young 
men who, by one gigantic bound, have reached 
the front rank in the world's affairs, and cases, 
too, where young financiers have arisen like 
meteors in the firmanent, yet, generally speaking, 
the older men are carrying forward the great 
projects of life to successful consummation be- 
cause earlier in life they have overcome obstacles, 
surmounted difiiculties, and are enabled to profit 
by past experience. This can be said of profes- 
sional as well as business men, and applies to 
every avenue of life open to men of large exper- 
ience and fully developed judgment. The man of 
fifty, blessed with health, should feel that he is 
in his prime, and capable, as never before, to 
accomplish great deeds which will redound to his 
credit and mark him as one Who has lived to some 
purpose and bestowed some good on his fellow- 
men. 

Ah, fifty years of age today! 

But yesterday a romping boy; 
How fast the time has sped away, 

With much of care and much of joy. 
Like arrow flying from the bow, 

Which cuts the air with speed of light, 
Like shuttle, rushing to and fro, 

So pass the years in rapid flight. . . 



80 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

First come the hours of childish joy, 

The pleasures of our youthful days; 
A round of mirth without alloy, 

While walking o'er life's pleasant ways. 
Next come the days of manhood's prime, 

High hopes, ambitions, fancies, dreams, 
Uplifting thoughts, ideals sublime. 

While life with glowing prospect teems. 



The summit of life's hill we gain. 

And pause to view the prospect grand- 
Has life with us been lived in vain ! 

Would we retard the flowing sand! 
Does satisfaction fill the heart. 

As we traverse the western slope? 
Does duty well discharged impart 

A radiant glow of peace and hope! 



With face turned to the setting sun 

Along the downward path we move ; 
The sands of life more quickly run, 

And flying years too surely prove 
That life is but a moment's space, 

A dream which passes with the night, 
A brief, uncertain, fruitless race. 

Which leaves few tokens of its flight. 



Thoughts m Prose and Rhyme. 81 

How speedily the time has fled, 

Yet left its marks of care behind ; 
Sometimes in devious pathways led, 

But mapped out by a Ruler kind. 
We know that He who guards each life 

And secrets of the heart can tell. 
Will lead us through life's fiercest strife — 

The Master doeth all things well. 



¥ 



Mother's Cooking 

OTHER'S cooking has been a sort of by-word 
for many generations past, and in all probability 
will so continue for years to come. Many are the 
jokes told of the young wife's first attempts at 
cooking, of her ignorance of the secrets of the 
kitchen and of her utter inability in the beginning 
of her housekeeping to prepare anything eatable, 
not to say palatable, for herself and her young 
husband to eat. Many are the stories told at the 
expense of the young husband who has been so 
imprudent as to inform his young wife that her 
cooking did not equal that of his good, old mother. 
In some instances his constant reminder of the 
excellence of his mother's cooking ability has led 
to serious trouble, broken up pleasant domestic 
relations, and destroyed the happiness of the 
home, so young married men would do well to 
take the advice of those who have more experience 
than they along these lines and not parade before 
the sharers of their joys and sorrows their moth- 
er's superior knowledge of the culinary art. At 
the risk of displeasing the young wives the author 
is compelled to state that up to this late date in 
life there is a green spot in his memory for the 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 83 

delicious beef roasts, the lamb with cranberry 
sauce, the veal with dressing, the pork with apple 
sauce, the apple pies, the mince pies, the blueberry 
pies, the cranberry pies, the-best-of-all-custard 
pies, the rich pound cake, the lovely jells and jams, 
the elegantly fried chicken, the roast turkey with 
dressing, and the appetizing apple butter which 
dear, old mother knew so well how to prepare. 

They dote on dishes rich and rare. 
Which foreign cooks did well prepare, 

And to the wealthy fed ; 
But tell me if you think you can. 
What better for the hungry man 

Than mother ^s home-made bread. 

They tell of dishes every day. 
Prepared in hotels, la francais. 

Of which good judges boast ; 
Of tender lamb with fresh, green peas — 
But nothing can by stomach please 

Like mother's lovely roast. 

They talk of buns of first-class rate 
The healthy appetite which sate. 

Which fancy bakers bake; 
So nicely cooked and made with care. 
But none of them can well compare 

With mother's fresh pound cake. 



84 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

They talk of well made oyster stews, 
And highly flavored French ragonts, 

For which the gourmand sighs; 
But naught to me tastes half so good, 
Of all the new and stylish food, 

As mother's home-made pies. 

They tell of currant jell and jam. 
Of potted beef, and veal and ham. 

Setting mouths a-flutter; 
But there's no sauce of which they tell 
That ever suits me half so well 

As mother's apple butter. 




We/come, Spring 

/^FTER the winter, with its storms and snows, 
its piercing winds, its leafless trees, its bleak hill- 
sides and dreary plains, has held us in its icy em- 
brace for the time in which it is permitted to reign 
supreme, it fills our souls with life and joy to feel 
the first indications of approaching spring. The 
storm-king abdicates his throne and lays at the 
feet of gentle spring his frosted crown. The ice 
melts and disappears under the influence of the 
genial sunshine; the snow, which has enveloped 
dame nature in a garb of white, softens under the 
warming rays of the sun, and sinks and disap- 
pears in her ample bosom to moisten the germs of 
life, which are hidden in her breast. The migra- 
tory birds which left us for a warmer clime, when 
winter came, return once more to cheer us with 
their song. Soon the flowers begin to peep from 
beneath the sod, with bashful eyes, fearing they 
may have made their appearance all too soon. 
The bees are aroused from their winter sleep, and 
the faint humming in the hive is an indication that, 
true to instinct, they are awake and making prep- 
aration once more to store their waxen cells with 



86 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

honied sweetness gathered from the opening flow- 
ers. If we were as closely controlled by reason 
as the bees, the birds and the beasts of the field 
are guided by instinct, along what different path- 
ways would we walk, and how differently would 
our lives be lived. How seldom we stop to con- 
sider Him who holds worlds in the palm of His 
hand, and from whom flow all the blessings we 
enjoy. 

Welcome, balmy days of spring, 
When the birds their carols sing. 

You are here! 
Peeping from beneath the sod. 
Buttercup and golden rod, 

Wake to cheer! 
The violets with welcome gaze 
Meet the sun's effulgent rays 

Without fear. 

Robin red-breast seeks his mate, 
Calling early, calling late: 

**Come, love, come! 
I am waiting, dear, on you. 
Vows of true love to renew. 

In our home ! 
Singing merry, charming lays. 
Together, through the nesting days, 

Let us roam/* 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 87 

Buzzing 'round the budding trees, 

Note the humming of the bees, 
Hear them sing — 

Search the meadows through and through. 

When the sun dries off the dew- 
Sweetness bring ! 

Store in cell and winding maze 

Honey for the winter days, 
In the spring. 

Ev'ry living, moving thing, 
Getting ready for the spring. 

Don't you see! 
Nature dons her vernal dress. 
Brings for all a fond caress. 

Given free! 
We should join in hymns of praise. 
Singing through the balmy days, 

You and me. 

Man, created lord and king. 
Should a grateful tribute bring, 

All day long ! 
Thankful for the time to sow. 
Thanks on Nature's god bestow. 

Clear and strong! 
Let each heart with fervor raise 
Sonnets praising Spring-time days. 

In sweet song. 



Memories 

OW sacred are the memories of the past, espe- 
cially to those who have crossed the meridian of 
life! How gladly we turn from present disap- 
pointment and care to live over again the pleas- 
ures of by-gone days. As our parents did before 
US; we tell to the young around us stories of our 
youth, of the happy times we then enjoyed, and 
strive to impress on them the fact that the amuse- 
ments which they now enjoy are greatly changed 
from the pleasures of our youthful days ; but when 
we sum it all up, we are led to the conclusion that 
our knowledge of life is as one pebble compared 
to the unlimited number found on the ocean shore. 
We have learned but little of the great truths 
which have effected our existence here, and which 
will have an important effect on our destiny in 
the great beyond. The conclusion to the whole 
matter is that this life is for a wise purpose, and 
it becomes our bounden duty to make the most 
of it. To enjoy its pleasures, bear its sorrows, 
fight its battles and do all the good we can as we 
travel along its tortuous pathway, are duties 
which we are bound to recognize, if we have any 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 89 

desire to approach perfect manhood. He who 
speaks the kindly word, extends the helping hand, 
^'laughs with those who laugh and weeps with 
those who weep/' will be praised of men, and 
loved by those whose burdens he helps to bear. 



From memory's hall where time has long been 
keeping 

Facts and fancies which we treasured there, 
Which are not dead but in our memory sleeping, 

We cull the flowers of remembrance fair. 
We live once more the times of joy and weeping, 

The changing pleasures of our giddy youth; 
We feel our knowledge into nothing creeping. 

For we have known of untruth more than truth. 



The cherished memories of the past draw nearer, 

We feel again the joys of other days ; 
We live once more in scenes to us much dearer, 

Than to the poet's ear are heav'nly lays. 
The songs which reach us from the past are 
clearer, 

The mellow fruit in youth had sweeter taste. 
But now when to life's end we draw the nearer. 

Our life oft seems a dreary, cheerless waste. 



90 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

This mortal life was for a purpose given 

And we must fight its battles, if we win ; 
For though our hearts by sorrow may be riven, 

To shirk our duty were a grievous sin. 
If all through life we manfully have striven 

To bear our burdens, and mankind to love, 
We'll dwell throughout an endless age in heaven. 

And merge our sorrows in the joys above. 



Then let us cast aside our useless dreaming. 

And live the moments as they pass along; 
Hope in our hearts, smiles from our faces 
beaming, 

Will make of life a grand and noble song. 
The w^hole of life for mortals ' good is teeming 

With much of joy, and pleasures rich abound; 
The clouds uplift, the beams of hope are gleaming. 

The dawning light is spreading joys around. 



Closer than a Brother 

3[n writing the prelude to the verses which 
follow, nothing better nor more appropriate can 
be said than to quote Senator Vest's ^^ Tribute to 
a Dog,'' delivered while he was attending court 
in a country town. He was paid a fee of $250.00 
to take the case of the plaintiff in this celebrated 
cause. Voluminous evidence was introduced to 
show that the defendant had shot the dog in 
malice, while other evidence went to show that the 
dog had attacked the defendant. Vest took no 
part in the trial and was not disposed to speak. 
The attorneys, however, urged him to make a 
speech, else their client would not think he had 
earned his fee. Being thus urged, he arose, 
scanned the face of each juryman for a moment, 
and then said : 

^'Gentlemen of the Jury — The best friend a 
man has in the world may turn against him and 
become his enemy. His son or daughter that he 
has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. 
Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those 
whom we trust with our happiness and our good 
name may become traitors to their faith. The 



92 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

money that a. man has he may lose. It flies away 
from him, perhaps, when he needs it most. A 
man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment 
of ill-considered action. The people who are 
prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when 
success is with us may be the first to throw the 
stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon 
our heads. The one absolutely unselfish friend 
that man can have in this selfish world, the one 
that never deserts him, the one that never proves 
ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog. A man's 
dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in 
health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold 
ground, where the wintry winds blow, and the 
snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his 
master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no 
food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores 
that come in encounter with the roughness of the 
world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master 
as if he were a prince. When all other friends 
desert he remains. When riches take wings and 
reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his 
love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. 
*^If fortune drives the master forth an out- 
cast in the world, friendless and homeless, the 
faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of 
accompanying him, to guard against danger, to 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 93 

fight against his enemies. And when the last 
scene of all comes, and death takes the master in 
its embrace, and his body is laid away in the cold 
ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their 
way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be 
found, his head between his pays, his eyes sad, 
but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true 
even in death. ^ ' 

Then Vest sat down. He had spoken in a low 
voice, without any gesture. He made no reference 
to the evidence or the merits of the case. When 
he finished judge and jury were wiping their eyes. 
The jury filed out, but soon entered with a verdict 
in favor of the plaintiff for $500.00. He had sued 
for $200.00. It is even said that some of the jurors 
wanted to hang the defendant. 



I once had a doggie called Pompey, 

Playmate to my wee darling boy ; 
And often their tricks and their antics, 

Would all my attention employ. 
Wherever my little boy wandered, 

The dog was his guardian complete ; 
And when my boy slept, being weary, 

Old Pompey was found at his feet. 



94 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

My wee boy was lost in the forest, 

Where maple trees sobbed in the wind; 
Where the ash, the elm and the birches 

With mosses and ivy were lined. 
We prayed and we searched and we fretted, 

But all of our efforts were vain; 
And yet we kept longing and wishing 

To find our wee darling again. 



At length a faint barking attracted, 

With cadence, sweet, striking the ear; 
We knew it was Pompey announcing : 

^ ' I 'm watching, have never a fear. ^ ' 
Near by we discovered my darling. 

On Pompey he pillowed his head ; 
Safe, resting, in innocent childhood, 

Asleep on a soft, leafy bed. 



When you see a dog looking friendless. 

Aimlessly wandering alone. 
Oh, never attempt to abuse him. 

But give him a bite or a bone. 
Oh, man! let humanity guide you! 

Inscribe this in memory's ^4og": 
* ^ When sorrow and trouble betide you, 

Man's truest, best friend is his dog." 



The Sai/or's 7)es/re 

vL HEEE is a fascination about the waters of the 
deep, blue sea which is not understood and, conse- 
quently, not appreciated by those who have never 
sailed over its watery depths, nor been rocked on 
its rolling billows; but to the old sailor, whose 
home has been on the bosom of the great deep, the 
ocean has a peculiar attraction which is difficult 
to define and which it is impossible to destroy. 
Take ''the old salt" away from his accustomed 
haunts and, like a home-sick child, he longs to re- 
turn to his former vocation, be once more asso- 
ciated with familiar scenes, and share again in 
their pleasures and their pains. While the sail- 
or 's life is an arduous one^ and fraught with many 
dangers, yet there is something about the life 
which, if once enjoyed, cannot easily be forsaken. 
The retired veteran of the sea is never more hap- 
py than when relating incidents of his life on the 
waters, of his visits to foreign shores, and of the 
strange things he has heard and seen. There is 
something, too, about the broad expanse of waters, 
and the ceaseless ebb and flow of the moving tides 
that give to those who have made their home for 



96 'Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

years on the ocean's briny depths, broad views of 
existence, and of the wonderful and mysterious 
ways of Providence, after which many of us could 
pattern with abundant profit. The old sea dog be- 
comes so closely attached to his ship that he would 
not forsake her in disaster, but prefer to go to a 
watery grave rather than desert her in the hour 
of peril. 

Oh I long to go back to the deep, rolling sea — 

Let me gaze once again on its waters so blue ; 
Let me view its rough billows so dashing and free. 

And afloat on its bosom old friendships renew. 
There is nothing so sweet as its health-giving air, 

There is never a spot like its beautiful shore ; 
In my visions and dreams I am wandering there, 

But, awaking, I sigh to behold thee once more. 

Oh, how deep are its waters, its treasures are rare, 

Its wealth is unmeasured, and its secrets un- 
known ; 
And thousands of lives have been doomed to 
despair. 

When in anger its billows have over them flown. 
It is cruel alike to its friends and its foes. 

And when angry man tries to control it in vain ; 
As the swain on his loved one affection bestows. 

So I long to be rocked on its broad breast again. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 97 

Far removed from the haunts of the haughty and 
proud, 

To set sail on its waters, light-hearted and gay — 
Oh the roar of its billows is calling aloud, 

From ^'the land lubber's haunts'' to entice me 
away. 
With no prison-like walls to encompass me round, 

With nothing above me but heaven's high dome, 
On its clear, flowing waters true comfort is found, 

And on its broad bosom, the sailor's loved home. 

When the wild storm is raging, and whitens the 
crest 

Of the billows which lash with their fury and 
foam. 
Or when it is lulled into calmness and rest, 

I'm contented upon its loved waters to roam. 
To dwell on its waters, on its billows to ride, 

I'm delighted to spend all my time upon thee; 
And when my ships floats on eternity's tide. 

Let me rise from a grave in the billowy sea. 



Life*s 'history 

\L HERE are those who are inclined to weigh life 
too lightly, never for a moment thinking^ that 
every one who reaches the age of accountability 
is responsible to his Maker, his fellowman and 
himself for the way he spends his time, and for 
the good which he accomplishes. It is not enough 
that he passes through life thinking of himself 
alone, pandering to his own passions, no matter 
how sordid these desires may be; but he has a 
graver duty to perform, a mission in the world to 
which he must give the closest attention, if he 
would acquit himself as a man and keep his skirts 
spotless from blame. The history of some lives 
can be written in these words : ^ ' They are born, 
they exist, they eat, they sleep, they die.'' Oh, 
how barren of results, how impoverished the soul, 
how scant the fruition of those who take no 
thought for their own improvement, for the bene- 
fits they bring to others, nor for the rich reward 
which comes to him who has fulfilled the require- 
ments of the law, which says, ' ' Thou art thy broth- 
er 's keeper.'' The preparatory season, the spring 
time of life, with its innocent pleasures, is to be en- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 99 

joyed while the soil is being prepared for the sow- 
ing of the seed; but the summer of life, when the 
fruit is ripening, when the grain is maturing, is the 
all-important period, the time when our life work 
should be done, if we wish to '^gather in the 
sheaves" at the great harvesting. Then in the 
closing days of autumn, with the fruits of a life 
garnered, we can contentedly wait for winter's 
frosts and storms, feeling that our life has not 
been lived in vain. 

When the blades of grass are springing, 

And the flowers deck the hill; 
When the water softly singing. 

Flows a-down the winding rill; 
When the birds to nest are meeting. 

And their love-songs sweetly sing; 
When the little lambs are bleating, 

Then we hail approaching spring. 

When the fields of grain are waving, 

And the clover is in bloom; 
When all nature has a craving 

For the flower's sweet perfume; 
When God's handiwork is singing 

To resemble Heaven's chime, 
Then the summer days are bringing 

The delightful harvest time. 

l.cTC. 



100 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

When the leaves are turning yellow, 

And the nights are growing cold ; 
When the orchard fruits are mellow, 

And the grain is tinged with gold; 
Vf hen the bees are gently humming, 

And for stores no longer roam; 
To the reapers then is coming 

The Autumnal harvest home. 



When the leafless trees are bending, 

With the storm's relentless power; 
When the mad north wind is rending 

Each trysting-place and bower ; 
When the earth, benumbed, is sleeping. 

When the Frost King chills life 's veins. 
And high carnival is keeping. 

Then we know that winter reigns. 



As comes the varying changes 

Of our sorrows, hopes and fears, 
So the All-wise King arranges 

The four seasons of our years ; 
Into summer bright spring merges, 

Pleasant summer into fall; 
Then bleak winter chants the dirges, 

And the grave is heir to all. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 



101 



But put off your garb of mourning, 

All the dead shall rise again; 
Spring returns, with life adorning 

Every barren hill and plain; 
So the grave shall yield its treasure, 

And the risen dead shall sing, 
In a mighty, joyous measure, 

^^ Grasping death, where is thy sting!'* 



Truth 

^HE search after truth to settle any disputed 
question is a laudable undertaking. When the 
theory was first advanced that the earth was not 
a level plain, but was round like a ball, much time 
and expense were exhausted to arrive at the truth 
concerning the problem which the philosphers of 
that day were trying to solve. Through all past 
centuries, wise men have branched ofP into all the 
various channels of thought, seeking after the 
truth, trying to prove or disprove some important 
proposition, the falsity or correctness of which 
was bound to have a great bearing on the destiny 
of mankind. Men of science have spent years try- 
ing to ascertain the purpose had in view when the 
Egyptians built the great Sphinx, which stands as 
a monument to their architectural skill and amaz- 
ing perseverance. Large sums of money have 
been expended to discover all the truth regarding 
the pyramids which stand as monuments to the 
tyranny of kings and the patience of an oppressed 
people. Thousands of instances could be given to 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 103 

show that the world is hungry for the truth touch- 
ing temporal things ; and much of its advancement 
is due to its insatiable desire to explode false theo- 
ries and establish truthful doctrines regarding dis- 
puted questions. The problem which is of the 
greatest import, fraught with the most momentous 
results, is that of our eternal destiny. This is the 
question of all others in which we should be the 
most deeply interested. This is the question which 
has a personal application to every human soul. 
What is the truth concerning our future condition? 
Do we die as brutes, or have we a spiritual exist- 
ence which must run parallel with the longest lines 
of eternity! Inclined to the latter proposition, 
we believe the key to the situation is found in the 
words of Christ Himself when He says : ^ ' I am 
the way, the truth and the life. ' ' 



Where shall I seek this precious pearl, 

Where find this jewel rare! 
Within the gilded halls of wealth. 

Is it discovered there! 
Where lies this hidden, shining gem, 

Kind angel tell to me! 
Where can I find this flawless pearl 

In all its purity ! 



104 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

I searched among the kings of earth 

AVith jewels richly crowned, 
Beseeching them to guide my course 

To where this gem was found. 
But none would lead my steps aright, 

Or heed my cries and tears ; 
They left me groping in the dark, 

Beset with doubts and fears. 



I viewed the busy marts of trade, 

With doubt and hope combined ; 
I sought with ardent diligence, 

This lovely gem to find ; 
But all in vain — I found it not, 

Where jealousies control — 
No room for its effulgent light 

Where vices fill the soul. 



I trod the humbler walks of life. 

Where poverty doth reign ; 
I asked it of the lowly poor, 

Alas ! I sought in vain. 
They answered not where I might find 

This pearl of priceless worth; 
Some thought it lay beneath the sea. 

Some in the mines of earth. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 105 

I asked the learned pliilosopliers, 

Well versed in liidden lore ; 
They promised me an answer true, 

But failed to tell me more. 
I turned to priests and ministers, 

In my distress and need. 
To learn from them if this fair gem 

Were found in church or creed. 



I searched and hunted everywhere. 

And yet the gem I sought 
Was found not in kings' palaces, 

Nor in the poor man's cot. 
I gave up searching in despair, 

A voice then said to me : 
^'Go search the Scripture and you'll find 

This gem of purity." 



I took the Bible for my guide, 

I pressed it to my heart; 
I learned its precepts and from them 

I cannot well depart. 
I'm happy now that I possess 

This gem of priceless worth 
Which shepherds found in Bethlehem 

When Jesus Christ had birth. 



106 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

Come, all ye nations of the earth, 

And hear the Savior's word; 
Accept Him as a gracious king, 

Your Savior, Master, Lord. 
Possess this sacred gem called Truth, 

And wear it all your days ; 
Follow this saving, guiding Light — 

Hear what the Master says ; 



*^I am the way, the Truth, the life. 

The world may come to me ; 
I gave my life, my blood was shed. 

To set the nations free. ' ' 
Oh, wondrous, everlasting Truth! 

What blessings Thou hast brought ! 
Thou art the precious, sacred gem 

Through all the ages sought. 




The Coming Morn 

itfliHILE there are many pleasant things in this 
life, many occurrences to make us happy, many 
events to cause our hearts to rejoice, it is not all 
sunshine, the sky is not always clear, we are not 
always free from care. Difficulties arise, disap- 
pointments come, troubles overtake us, obstacles 
block our pathway, clouds darken the skies, sor- 
rows pierce the heart like lightning's fatal flash, 
bereavements make us mourn, friendships are 
broken, the billows of adversity overwhelm us un- 
til we are driven almost to despair. Our sons and 
our daughters upon whom we have lavished a 
wealth of love and devotion, may prove ungrateful 
and but poorly requite us for what we have done 
for them. The money which a man has sometimes 
takes to itself wings and flies away, and in place 
of his being able to live in comfort and ease during 
his old days, poverty and want are his portion. 
Friends faithful for years, through some unex- 
plainable fickleness found in human nature, be- 



108 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

come estranged, and how keen is the pain when the 
cords of friendship are broken, when those nearest 
and dearest to us, those whom we have trusted 
vrith our happiness and our good name, have be- 
come traitors to our cause. The pangs of regret 
wrench our hearts, as in a vise, for some foolish 
action performed, some unkind word hastily 
spoken. Those who have been ready to applaud 
our success, and free to sing our praise, have 
sometimes been the first to cast the stone of malice 
or of ridicule when the clouds of failure hung 
darkly over our heads. It appears to be the lot of 
some men to be misunderstood, and to have their 
acts misconstrued. Good deeds performed with 
the best intent have been attributed to sinister 
motives, and men have been censured for acts 
which, had the intent been understood, would have 
called forth the loudest praise. Away to the east- 
ward the sky is lighted up with a mellow light, the 
dawn is breaking, soon appearing over the hill- 
tops is seen the morning sun. The glorious orb 
of day rises higher and higher in the heavens, the 
darkness disappears, the clouds disperse and the 
beautiful morning brings light and hope to all 
mankind. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 109 

When the clouds are hanging heavy, and the times 
are sad and drear, 

When the days are damp and chilly, and no sun- 
light comes to cheer ; 

When your money has departed, and your friends 
have quickly gone. 

When your former great exertions you no longer 
lean upon ; 

When your married sons and daughters have no 
room for such as you, 

Wlien the pleasant things of this life have depart- 
ed as the dew; 

When the darkness is the darkest, just before the 
dawn of day. 

Will the breaking of the morning drive the moving 
clouds away? 



When your youthful aspirations have been shat- 
tered by a breath, 

When unsatisfied ambitions have been doomed to 
instant death; 

When your reputation's injured, casting doubt 
upon your name. 

When you pass a-down the hillside and no longer 
wish for fame ; 



110 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

When your dearest hopes are blasted, when your 

acts are misconstrued, 
When you know that friendships broken can at 

no time be renewed ; 
When you feel sad and disheartened, when your 

spirit brave is cowed, 
Will the coming of the morning chase away the 

hanging cloud? 



When misfortune's cruel winepress squeezes to 

the very dregs, 
When poor, degraded, fallen man for mercy 

loudly begs ; 
When environments compel us of the bitter cup 

to drink. 
When the billows overwhelm us, in the rolling 

waves we sink; 
When all torn and bruised and mangled in the 

world's uneven fight, 
When denounced, abused, berated for defending 

truth and right ; 
When false criticisms crush us and we hasten to 

our doom. 
Will the coming of the morning disperse the gath- 
ering gloom? 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 111 

"When we weary of the actions of the giddy, foolish 

throng, 
When the wicked seem to flourish, and the thought- 
less do us wrong; 
When we feel depressed and lonely, when our 

friends against us turn. 
When the envious persecute us, and our kindly 

actions spurn; 
When the days are long and dreary, and we are 

sore distressed, 
When we drop life 's heavy burden, and cry out for 

endless rest; 
When grim death, the liberator, breaks the world 's 

unenvied sway. 

Then the glories of the morning drive the passing 
clouds away. 




Merry Christmas 

VChEISTMAS comes and goes, and each succeed- 
ing Christmas time the children hang their stock- 
ings on the mantle and go to bed to dream of the 
beautiful things which Santa Claus will bring 
them, while their eyes are closed and they are 
wrapped in slumber. For hundreds of years the 
children have been dreaming these beautiful 
dreams, and they will do so as long as the nations 
of the earth continue to believe in a dying Saviour 
and a risen God. Each year the Christmas chimes 
ring out with loud acclaim, reminding the world 
of God's love and sacrifice, exhibited in the gift 
of his son to save a world from endless death. 
What unbounded love! What glorious sacrifice! 
That God in His infinite love and mercy should 
bestow such a priceless^ wonderful gift to save 
poor, fallen humanity, surpasses all human under- 
standing, transcends all power of appreciation. 
When we contemplate the immensity of the sacri- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 113 

fice, we are lost in wonder, love and praise. 
Through the civilized world, in some form or 
other, the people will commemorate the day when 
the angels sang: '^ Glory to God in the highest, 
and on earth peace, good will to men. ' ' If during 
the Christmas festivities, we would keep constant- 
ly before our minds the fact that the greatest gift 
ever bestowed, was when God gave His only Son 
to bear our burden, and to be punished for our 
sins which came through Adam's fall, our hearts 
would be tilled with gratitude, and we would strive 
to make others happy. It is more pleasant to give 
than to receive, so if we have nothing more, we 
can bestow a kindly word and a pleasant smile, 
scattering sunshine everywhere. And the beauty 
of it all is^ the more we smile on others, and the 
kindlier we speak, the greater happiness we enjoy. 



Oh, Christmas times ! Oh, Christmas times ! 

They come but once a year. 
And why not greet them with a smile 

As well as with a tear. 
Oh joyous, welcome Christmas time! 

The Savior's natal day. 
When unto us the Christ was given. 

To bear our sins away. 



114 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

Oh, Christmas times ! Oh, Christmas times ! 

Let grief and pain depart. 
And joy and peace and thankfulness, 

Be found in every heart; 
And for the shame and pain and death, 

Christ suffered here below, 
Let all our grateful thoughts and words; 

With kindness overflow. 



Oh, Christmas times ! Oh, Christmas times ! 

Let every selfish thought 
Be banished when we know the good 

For us through Jesus bought. 
Let God-like impulse fill the soul. 

And all our wishes be 
To pattern from His wondrous love 

And gracious charity. 



Oh, Christmas times ! Oh, Christmas times ! 

With one united voice. 
Let all the world their paens sing. 

And every soul rejoice. 
Let heathen tribes with thankful hearts 

Before the Savior fall. 
And all the ransomed join to crown 

The Savior Lord of all. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 115 

Oil, Christmas times ! Oh, Christmas times ! 

Proclaim a Savior slain. 
To save a stricken, sin-cursed world, 

Nor shall He bleed in vain. 
Ring out, ring out, ye chiming bells, 

Till Heaven with praise resounds ! 
And let the welcome tidings reach 

To earth's remotest bounds. 



Oh, Christmas times! Oh, Christmas times! 

What happiness you bring, 
Eecalling to our minds the songs 

The Heavenly angels sing. 
The music of that glorious morn — 

We hear it once again: 
• * Glory to God in highest strains. 

On earth, good will to men. ' ' 




The Story of the Wind 

JiF THE wind were given a voice, what wondrous 
tales of joy and woe it could impart ! It could tell 
of the lone traveler, lost on the trackless waste, 
longing for a gentle, cooling breeze to fan his 
fevered brow, and how in answer to his dying 
prayer, a gentle zephyr sweeps over his wan face 
and sports with his curly locks till, in half 
dreamy condition, his imagination carries him 
back to the old homestead and to his accustomed 
place at his father's fireside. This cooling breeze 
carries his thoughts back to the time when, kneel- 
ing at his mother 's knee, her fingers, with graceful 
touch, strayed back and forth through his wavy 
hair as she listened to the story of his first great 
sorrow, or with a mother's tenderness spoke 
words of comfort which fell on his listening ear 
and cooled his heated fancy, as the gentle wind 
now fans his burning brow. It could tell of in- 
numerable jokes practiced on the precise and dig- 
nified for very wantonness of purpose. It could 
relate how in its wrath it has dashed mighty ships 
against the jagged rocks, and sent hundreds to a 
watery grave with the same ease that it lifts the 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 117 

fallen, brown-tinged leaf from its leafy bed. It 
could speak of how, in its rage, it has dashed the 
kings of the forest to the earth, breaking them like 
twigs of brittle wood, and scattering mighty build- 
ings, man's boasted handiwork, like chaff before 
the wind. It could tell of sights of comfort and 
visions of woe, of pestilence and famine, of squalid 
poverty and sorrow, of opulence and wealth; of 
fields of yellow, waving grain, and of kissing the 
dewy lips of the first budding flowers of spring. 
It could give an account of the baloon as it moves 
on its trackless way, silently floating on the aerial 
sea. It has measured the waves of the ocean; ex- 
plored the caves of the earth ; gone with the alba- 
tros in its loftiest flight, and ruffled the eagle's 
feathers as he has perched on the highest pinnacle 
of earth. 



Tell me, oh wind, your grievous tale ! 

Why do you weep and sigh 1 
Why with a sad and mournful wail, 

Breathe out your life and die? 
Can you not sing some happy strains 

Of other lands than ours. 
Where lovely summer always reigns. 

And ever-blooming flowers? 



118 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

The lonely isle, the peopled main, 

Where bustling cities stand, 
Have listened to the moaning strain 

Yon sing in every land; 
But as you run your constant race 

Onward and never cease. 
Have you not found some quiet place. 

Where reigns eternal peace ! 



You travel over land and sea, 

Where ocean's billows foam; 
Where cooling breezes fan the lea, 

Your footsteps gently roam. 
Can you not name some shady nook. 

With peace and quiet blessed, 
Near babbling stream, or purling brook. 

Where weary ones may rest! 



You journey over all the earth. 

All climes have felt your breath 
You rage, destruction has its birth. 

And in your path is death. 
Can you not tell, who travel far. 

And foreign shores caress. 
Is there on earth no guiding star 

Which leads to happiness? 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 119 

^ ^ Nay, foolish mortal, ask me not, 

Where peace and quiet reign ; 
I cannot tell, for 'tis thy lot 

To suffer grief and pain. 
If thou shouldst live for three score years, 

Thy portion still must be. 
To meet with pain, to quake with fears. 

While sailing o'er life's sea. 



^^But still there is a glorious light, 

To weary mortals given. 
Which drives away the lingering night, 

And points the way to Heaven. 
For rest and peace have no distress. 

No longer mourn for them; 
There is a guide to happiness — 

The Star of Bethlehem." 



^M 



m Fallen Church 

S)INCE the time when the Christian church was 
established, centuries ago, many innovations 'have 
been introduced, and remarkable departures from 
the rules and regulations promulgated by its early 
adherents have taken place. Whether these have 
been a benefit or a detriment, is a question which 
can only be decided by settling the point, whether 
we should remain close to the teachings of the 
Savior, or draw away from them, keeping up a 
semblance only of the marks which characterize 
the followers of the meek and lowly Jesus. If the 
latter is the means through which shall come eter- 
nal joy and peace to the world, then surely were 
the work being pushed to a speedy consummation, 
and the emmisaries of Satan should introduce 
more new ideas, as fast as possible, so that they 
may point with pride to their handiwork. If the 
former is the proper course to pursue, then, in- 
deed, have we departed from the straight and nar- 
row path, as did the Israelites of old, and we are 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 121 

guilty in the sight of God. Today, if a man has 
money, and is willing to contribute liberally to the 
support of the church, no matter how vile his daily 
walk before the world may be, he is taken into the 
church, and in some instances, is made one of its 
honored members. After such deeds as these are 
performed by the chosen representatives of the 
church, they wonder why decent people hold them- 
selves aloof, and refuse to enter into a partner- 
ship with Satan through his servants who have 
joined the ranks of God^s people to further the 
cause of the devil, their master. They are wolves 
in sheep's clothing, and the sooner the church 
purges itself of such, the sooner will the kingdom 
of God thrive and prosper. 

A faithful church of former days, 

Had prospects clear and bright ; 
Their sole desire and efforts were 

To serve their God aright. 
The Master's love was in their hearts. 

They kept his gracious laws; 
With singleness of thought and mind. 

Advanced the Savior 's cause. 



122 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

The members of this christian band, 

Lived right from day to day ; 
To often meet was their delight, 

To watch, to sing and pray ; 
And so these godly, upright men, 

And christian women, too. 
Proved faithful to the Master's work. 

To every vow were true. 



Years passed away, and still they wrought 

The world to aid and bless ; 
They met the high with truthful grace. 

The poor with kind caress. 
They pointed out the downward path, 

Where wickedness begins; 
And labored day and night to save 

The godless from their sins. 



Now Satan watched this growing church 

With ill concealed desire ; 
And as he watched their christian zeal, 

His mind was filled with ire. 
'Twas his sole thought to capture them, 

And lead them by the hand, 
Wlio formed this ever spreading church. 

This true and fearless band. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 123 

He worked and schemed with diligence 

To break down every plan 
Laid by each member of this church 

To save his fellowman. 
His progress first was hard and slow — 

God's saints on manna fed. 
When he appeared: ^^Get thee behind'* 

Was what each member said. 



Thus failing, he sought other means, 

Did time and thought bestow 
To wreck the plans the church had made. 

And lay the christian low. 
He worked and planned that he might win 

Each Judas to his side; 
And then, with cunning known to him, 

Dissentions scattered wide. 



Base traitors who had sold their souls 

For this world's pelf and gain. 
Sowed seeds of wickedness and strife. 

Nor were they sown in vain. 
These men who served the devil well. 

The church's standard lowered; 
And Satan smiled and claimed that he 

A winning point had scored. 



124 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Vile men and those who reeked with lust, 

Found place upon the roll; 
Those filled with wickedness and those 

Who loved the flowing bowl ; 
Till lust and vice and evil reigned 

Where purity should dwell ; 
God's former dwelling-place was changed 

Into an earthly hell. 



At length old Satan's work was done, 

All harmony destroyed ; 
Gone from them was the happiness, 

These people once enjoyed. 
Then Satan laughed with fiendish glee, 

A wicked boast he made. 
That he had won against the church— 

The power of God was stayed. 



Oh Lord, make bare Thy powerful arm, 

The wicked to confound ; 
Bring, Lord, to naught their sinful plans. 

Nor let their vice abound. 
Though Satan sometimes may prevail, 

And grievous trouble send. 
Through the Eedeemer we shall prove 

Victorious in the end. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 125 

Dear Lord, we humbly ask of thee, 

Thy church to purify ; 
Love, cherish and protect her as 

The apple of Thine eye. 
Make her a house where Thou canst live, 

Which Thou canst own and bless ; 
A house where Jesus Christ may dwell. 

The King of Righteousness. 




^ Future "^ome 

vIUHE question of a home beyond the grave, a 
happy, future existence, where grief and pain and 
sorrow are not known, and where all tears are 
wiped away, is one which has agitated the minds 
of philosophers and sages during all the past ages. 
Is there a future state! This question has 
wracked the brain and disturbed the thought of 
the world's greatest thinkers; but today the con- 
census of opinion is that after man's sojourn 
through this world, he will live in another state, 
and will be subject to future rewards and punish- 
ments consequent on his actions in this life, which 
is understood to be a probationary state to fit him 
to dwell in a land of peace ; but failing to live up 
to the requirements, he will be denied the privil- 
ege of entering the heavenly kingdom. The ortho- 
dox plan of salvation is logical as well as beautiful, 
has been nutured so carefully, has taken such deep 
root, and has withstood the violent storms of per- 
secution so staunchly, that today, if some super- 
human power were to reveal to man that the chris- 
tian religion was but a myth, the nations of the 



TJioughts in Prose and Rhyme. 127 

earth would be much slower to accept such a 
theory, than they have been to accept the simple 
plan in which they now believe. It is not the inten- 
tion at this time to enter into any labored argu- 
ment to convince the sceptical regarding the plan 
of redemption, nor of the future rewards which 
are bestowed on the good, and the punishments 
which are meted out to the wicked, but simply to 
state the general opinion, that there is an eternal 
city, there is a heavenly home, there is a house of 
many mansions prepared for those who believe in 
Christ and accept him as their Savior. This being 
true, it is acting the part of wisdom to so live that 
we may inherit that mansion in the heavenly city 
prepared for those who believe in Christ as the 
world's Redeemer. 



Is there a land from sorrow free, 

Where I can have surcease 
From all the ills that trouble me, 

A calm and perfect peace? 
Where is this long sought happy land, 

Free from all pain and care? 
Oh, kindly take me by the hand, 

And gently lead me there. 



128 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

I fain would quit the haunts of man, 

Leave grief and pain behind, 
To free myself from Adam's ban 

Which rests on all mankind. 
Oh, may I not escape its power, 

The curse of God preclude? 
Oh make me for one little hour. 

Free from solicitude. 



Is there no land where truth had birth, 

By God forever blessed. 
Where weary souls who dwell on earth, 

May find eternal rest 1 
Oh, tell me not the end is here. 

Where life doth but begin. 
Where all is darkness, doubt and fear, 

And wickedness and sin. 



I cannot bear the awful thought 

Which doth my soul oppress ; 
Where is this home by christians sought, 

Free from all wickedness 1 
It cannot be, oh, gracious Lord, 

We must in sorrow roam. 
If we accept thy saving word. 

And seek this future home. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 129 

Thou hast prepared a dwelling place, 

A city bright and fair, 
Wliere we shall see Thy shining face, 

And meet our Savior there. 
Then we shall know as we are known, 

God will remove our fears, 
And stooping from the great white throne, 

Shall wipe away our tears. 



There is a mansion in this home. 

Prepared for you and me, 
Where pain and sickness never come. 

From sin and sorrow free. 
Lord guide our halting steps aright. 

Help us to guard them well. 
That we may make a winning fight. 

In paradise to dwell. 




The Heavenly Land 

3[f the christian belief is founded on fact, if 
his theory of a future state of happiness is not a 
myth, if he has good and sufficient reason for his 
faith, and it is generally conceded that he has, then 
should he be happy in the hope that, when he quits 
this vale of tears, he will dwell in the heavenly city 
— a house not made with hands, eternal in the 
heavens. He should be, and observation leads to 
the conclusion that he is, the happiest mortal 
among all the teeming millions who inhabit this 
mundane sphere. To enjoy this earthly existence, 
to share in its pleasures and to partake of the hap- 
piness which it affords, to feel its sorrows, to bear 
its griefs, its disappointments and its cares, hav- 
ing with him the ever-present consciousness that 
some day, in the great beyond, he will have no 
more sorrow, no more trouble, no more pain — this 
is a consummation devoutly to be wished, and one 
which is promised to all those who have chosen 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 131 

*^ rather to suffer affliction with the people of God 
than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season/' 
No one can fully explain that future existence, 
where all is felicity and joy and peace, where sor- 
rows never come and where all tears are forever 
wiped away; but it is frequently compared to a 
beautiful city, whose walls are of jasper and whose 
streets are of gold. Clear, crystal streams flow 
through its borders, beautiful trees laden with de- 
licious fruits line its marble walls, ambrosial flow- 
ers scent the air, and birds of rich and beautiful 
plumage sing their ceaseless songs. This descrip- 
tion doubtless falls far short of what the reality 
will unfold to the weary soul who gains admit- 
tance through the pearly gates, but it can all be 
summed up in the words, ^ ^ Peace, eternal peace. ' ' 



Beautiful land where the sweet scented flowers 

Send forth their perfumes all the year ; 
Birds sing their songs in the cool shady bowers, 

The days are not chilly nor drear. 
The night with its shades never visits that land, 

And the sun never ceases to shine; - 
The dwellers therein are a peace-loving band. 

And controlled by a Euler divine. 



132 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

No sickness nor sorrow appears in that place, 

No death scenes within it are found ; 
No spirit of wickedness there to disgrace, 

Kich pleasures eternal abound. 
In that country are heard no heart-breaking sighs. 

While the years of eternity roll ; 
No obstacles rise to becloud the clear skies. 

Nor burden the blood-ransomed soul. 



The ever-green trees, gently swayed by the breeze. 

Make music delightful to hear; 
The lovely surroundings are fashioned to please. 

Naught offending the sensitive ear. 
All the people who dwell in that city above. 

Whose faces with radiance beam. 
Are guided and led by the Euler's great love, 

Which flows like a clear, crystal stream. 



Would you moor life's bark in that haven of rest. 

Safe anchored from sorrow and care ? 
Would you dwell in that land the Savior has 
blessed. 

That country delightfully fair? 
Then walk in the path of the humble and meek, 

Bow low 'neath the scourge of the rod ; 
Possess the great pearl which you ardently seek — • 

The smile of a merciful God. 



Heavenly Light 

aSuHERE are some people who appear to be con- 
stantly striving after something which is, to them, 
unattainable, and although they strive earnestly 
and honestly to reach the goal, the object of their 
desire seems to be as far distant as it was in the 
beginning of the struggle. This is especially true 
regarding the christian life, and particularly no- 
ticeable as touching young converts. Some are 
converted who seem to enter immediately into a 
broad spiritual existence, while others, equally as 
sincere, for some reason, never appear to possess 
that freedom which denotes deliverance from the 
requirements of a broken law. The latter are 
forever lingering and shivering on the brink, ^^and 
fear to launch away''; while the former with an 
abiding faith in the promises of God, are able to 
strike out from the shore, and meet their Savior 
on a sea of joy. It surely is a grand climax to 
see an old person who has kept his faith well 
grounded on the Rock of Ages, grow stronger and 
stronger spiritually as he draws nearer and nearer 
the river's brink. As he passes down the hillside, 
his experience grows brighter, for he is hastening 
to a glorious sunset, and will son behold the heav- 
enly light. 



134 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Cold winter rests upon my head, 
But spring eternal fills my heart ; 

Along Christ's pathway I am led — 
I soon from earthly care shall part. 



My soul ascends on eagle's wings, 
I long to meet with spirits bright ; 

And, oh, the comfort which it brings, 
When I am led by heavenly light. 



Our strength grows weaker as we pass 
Along life 's way and older grow ; 

Old age and pain our souls harass. 
We meet with sorrow, grief and woe. 



We struggle hard for earthly things — 
We eat and drink and fondly love — 

But carnal joy no comfort brings. 

Nor leads our thoughts to things above. 



Oh, weary, wandering, burdened soul, 
Look up and see yon guiding star, 

Which leads to an eternal goal. 
Where sin and sorow cannot mar. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 135 

No trouble weighs the spirit down, 
Nor binds it fast with galling chain ; 

But there the righteous wear a crown, . 
And live because the Christ was slain. 



Oh, come and at this fountain drink. 
At this life-giving spring of youth 

Nor linger, shivering, on the brink. 
But launch into a sea of truth. 



Dwell in the sunshine of the Lord, 
Forsake the dark and dreary night — 

His name be everywhere adored. 
Who lifts us up to heavenly light. 



••••••• 

•• •• 

¥ 



The Christian's Claim 

VjuO BE the king of an earthly realm, to rule over 
an empire, to govern a mighty state, teeming with 
millions of people, is an exalted position for which 
men have striven in all ages of the world's history. 
War has been waged, blood has been shed, conn- 
tries have been impoverished, lands have been de- 
populated, awful crimes have been committed, 
murders have been perpetrated, to enable ambi- 
tious men to rule a kingdom, or control an empire. 
How much of intrigue, how much of corruption, 
how much of villainous purpose, how much of 
bloodshed has come to destroy the peace and ruin 
the prospects of thousands in order that unworthy 
men, with purpose vile, might gain authority and 
power over a transitory kingdom which at the 
longest must be of short duration, and at the most 
must soon totter and fall. How different is the 
christian's claim! The rightful heir to a throne, 
joint heir with the heavenly King, no one to dis- 
pute his right, no one to contest his accession, his 
title is clear to a crown and a throne, if he but ful- 
fill the required conditions which are said to be 
so plain * ' that a wayfaring man, though a fool in 
other respects, need not err therein." Then, too, 
if the orthodox are right, this kingdom for which 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 137 

he strives, and this crown which he shall wear, are 
neither perishable nor transitory, but they con- 
tinue throughout eternal ages for the great Ruler 
of that celestial realm is the Alpha and the Omega, 
the beginning and the end of all things. While 
that great and eternal empire endures and that 
mighty King holds sway, the christian shall 
reign in the realm of the blessed, and proclaim to 
the teeming millions who shall inhabit that coun- 
try, ^ * I am heir to a throne, and a king. ^ ' 

I am heir to a throne of jasper and gold, 

A king of a realm, bright and fair; 
I soon shall depart for the heavenly fold, 

Away from all sorrow and care. 
And when I draw near to that beautiful land, 

The sheaves of the harvest to bring, 
The Savior will give me a welcoming hand, 

Proclaim me an heir and a king. 

Then the angels will sing, the heavens resound 

For Him who for rebels was slain ; 
That a sinner, redeemed, was lost, but is found — 

Returned to his kingdom again. 
A crown on my brow, I shall fearlessly stand. 

While plaudits of heaven shall ring ; 
A harp in my hand, I shall join the great band, 

Sweet music of angels to sing. 



138 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

I shall roam the green fields, bathe in the clear 
streams 
Which nothing can ever defile; 
I shall rest with the blessed, and bask in the 
beams 
Of my Lord's affectionate smile. 
I shall feed on sweet fruits, and drink at' the 
springs 
Which rise in the city above; 
And praise my Redeemer who salvation brings 
Through the strength of His undying love. 



I shall never grow weary, be always at rest. 

In the cycles which have not an end ; 
I shall lean on the arm, repose on the breast 

Of Jesus, my Savior and Friend. 
When thousands of ages have glided away, 

My voice in loud praises shall ring ; 
I yet shall be shouting through unending day 

*^I am heir to a throne, and a king.'' 



The Golden Gate 

kL/HFj term quarantine, as originally applied, re- 
ferred to tlie time during which a ship arriving in 
port, and known or suspected to be infested with 
a malignant, contagious disease, was obliged to 
forbear all intercourse with the place to which she 
had arrived. It now refers to the inforced isola- 
tion of individuals and certain objects, coming, 
whether by sea or land, from a place where dan- 
gerous communicable disease is presumably or ac- 
tually present, with a view to limiting the spread 
of the malady. The soul in its unregenerate con- 
dition is said to be suffering from a malady the 
most malignant of which the human mind can con- 
ceive. According to the belief of some theologians 
it is held in quarantine for a period to cleanse it 
from the polution with which it is stained through 
the sickness from which it has suffered. In keep- 
ing with the teachings of another school, no pre- 
paratory course is required to entirely eradicate 
all traces of the trouble, and completely relieve it 



140 TJioughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

of the polution of sin. Speaking from an ortho- 
dox standpoint, one application of the blood which 
was shed on Calvary for the remission of sin is 
sufficient to kill the disease and wash away every 
stain. However, after the malady has been re- 
moved, there must be no turning back, there must 
be a continual pressing forward and a continual 
warfare waged against the enemy of souls. There 
is a pathway in which all christians should walk, 
there is a race to be run and only those who endure 
to the end shall receive the prize. Whether the 
first or the second theory is correct, nearly all 
christian denominations hold forth the most flat- 
tering offers to induce the children of men to start 
on that journey along the road that leads to the 
Golden Gate which admits pilgrims to the celestial 
city. The journey of life is of the highest moment 
to wayfarers here below and is fraught with many 
dangers, but when riding on the train of which the 
Great Law Giver is the Conductor, so long as we 
obey the rules and regulations by him established, 
there is no danger. If we follow the precepts laid 
down by Him we shall not be side-tracked, our 
train will not be ditched, quarantine will not be 
enforced, but we shall have a free passage to the 
heavenly kingdom and be admitted to its comforts 
^nd its joys when we arrive at the Golden Gate. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 141 



a 



All aboard !*' the Conductor invitingly cries; 

''Aboard !'' for the bright, Golden Gate; 
This train, well equipped for a trip to the skies, 

Leaves daily, nor ever is late. 
The souls which it carries are justified men, 

Who travel through storm and through calm ; 
Its running time schedule surpasses our ken — 

*Tis sealed by the blood of the Lamb. 



It travels broad plains, passes beautiful scenes, 

Prepared by the owner for you ; 
And if you are faithful, no cloud intervenes, 

To hide the Conductor from view. 
The guide on this road,is the Bible of old. 

Which gives neither stop nor delay;; 
In the simplest form, the sweet story is told — 

Its watchword, ''Unceasingly pray.*' 



The engine is run by a great Engineer, 

Who worked out a soul-saving plan; 
Unto Him the lost souls of sinners were dear. 

The saving of vile, wicked man. 
He handles the lever with wisdom and care, 

Tis pleasant to ride on His train; 
The traveler who journeys need never despair - 

Was cleasing blood offered in vain? 



142 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

The trip which you take on this wonderful road, 

Through repentance is boundless and free; 
Hear you the sweet voice from the Master 's abode, 

Sweetly calling to you and to me ! 
Oh, poor, fallen mortal, accept the reward 

The Conductor is longing to give; 
'T would fill you with grief, if you were debarred 

From the heavenly city to live. 



This train carries passengers safe to the shore 

Of a country surpassingly fair, 
Where trouble and sorrow torment us no more. 

Where cometh not sickness nor care. 
Oh, sinner, lost sinner, get on to the cars, 

And journey with Christ to the end; 
No accident troubles, nor temptation mars, 

With Him, your Conductor and Friend. 



Behold the bright light which shines on the portal. 

Held out by a dear, loving hand ; 
It spreads its bright beams to light thee, 0, mortal. 

To the joys of that heavenly land. 
We draw near the city^ we see the broad street. 

We view the Conductor's estate; 
Safe home He has brought us, we fall at His feet. 

As we sweep through the bright, Golden Gate! 



Our Count ry*s Flag 

'SDhE standard English flag was used by the 
American Colonies in their early days. After- 
wards various flags were displayed, it being suffi- 
cient if ground and cross differed. Now and then 
a pine tree or a hemisphere was figured in the 
upper left hand quarter of the cross, and one flag 
had only the tree for a symbol. The revolution 
brought in many devices for flags and banners, 
bearing mottoes more or less defiant of the British 
Government. The earliest vessels sailing under 
Washington's authority displayed the pine tree 
flag. Some privateers, however, adopted a device 
consisting of a mailed hand grasping a bundle of 
thirteen arrows. January 2, 1776, Washington 
displayed a flag consisting of thirteen stripes of 
red and white, with the union jack in place of the 
stars, the stripes being emblematic of the union of 
the thirteen Colonies against British oppression. 
The rattle-snake flag was often used, the snake 
being coiled to strike, with the motto, ^^ Don't 
tread on me. ' ' The snake 's rattles generally num- 
bered thirteen. The first official action taken with 
regard to a national flag was June 14, 1777, when 



144 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

the Continental Congress passed a resolution, 
^^That the flag of the thirteen United States be 
thirteen stripes, alternate red and white ; that the 
Union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, rep- 
resenting a new constellation/' There has been 
much controversy over the origin of this design, 
but now a majority of writers consider it to have 
been suggested by the coat-of-arms of the Wash- 
ington family, which contained both the stars and 
the stripes. Paul Jones claimed to be the first to 
raise the new flag over a naval vessel. January 
13, 1794, Vermont and Kentucky having been ad- 
mitted to the Union two or three years previous. 
Congress enacted, ^^That from and after the first 
day of May, 1795, the flag of the United States be 
fifteen stripes, and the union be fifteen stars, ' ' the 
intention being apparently to add both a stripe 
and a star for each new state admitted. In 1818, 
the number of states having increased to twenty. 
Congress enacted that the number of stripes be 
reduced to thirteen, to typify the original thirteen 
states; that the number of stars be increased to 
twenty; and that, ^^on the admission of each new 
state into the Union, one star be added to the 
union of the flag, and that such addition shall take 
effect on the Fourth of July next succeeding such 
admission. ' ' 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 145 

Oh, proudly wave our country ^s flag, 

For where it waves there freedom lives ; 
Its graceful folds unfurl for all, 

And freedom from oppression gives. 
Long may it float o 'er land and sea, 

Till all the nations of the earth 
Shall greet it as a loyal friend. 

And praise the land which gave it birth. 



May its broad stripes bring happiness 

To our possessions o'er the sea; 
It's influence o'er the world be felt. 

Till nations shall indeed be free. 
Shine on, shine on, each radiant star. 

Let all the world behold your light, 
Till each untutored man shall know. 

You banish ignorance and night. 



From Philippino's torrid zone. 

To bleak Alaska's frozen shore. 
May war's alarms remain unknown, 

And clash of arms be heard no more. 
May truth and righteousness prevail. 

Where'er ^'Old Glory" is unfurled. 
No hand its sacred folds assail. 

Which offer friendship to the world. 



The Battle of Manila 

^ SHOET time after war was declared between 
this country and Spain, Commodore Dewey, who 
was in command of the American squadron, re- 
ceived instruction from his government to attack 
and destroy the Spanish fleet wherever found. On 
the 29th of April, 1898, Dewey steamed away from 
the Chinese coast, and the following day anchored 
in Subig Bay, on the coast of Luzon, about thirty 
miles from Manila. That night he followed the 
shore line, and about midnight passed through the 
channel into Manila harbor. The next day, Sun- 
day, May 1st, between four and ^ve o 'clock in the 
morning, the American squadron headed for the 
Spanish position. When the Spaniards viewed the 
situation, at the dawn of that lovely Sabbath 
morning, their surprise can be more easily imag- 
ined than described; but, while they were filled 
with wonder, surprise and consternation, they 
courageously prepared to meet the crisis 
which had so suddenly presented itself. 
The greatest enthusiasm prevailed among 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 147 

the American sailors, and with prolonged shouts 
of '^Eemember the Maine'' the attack was begun. 
From the beginning of the conflict, the superior 
marksmanship of the Americans was noticeable, 
while the opposite was true of the Spanish, for, 
although their guns were well served, they were 
not so well aimed. The battle was of short dura- 
tion. The Reina Christina, which had taken the 
lead of the Spanish fleet, received a shot which 
caused her to explode and catch fire, and a short 
time afterwards every one of the Spanish vessels 
was driven ashore and destroyed. In one respect 
this was one of the most remarkable naval battles 
known to history, for while hundreds of the Span- 
iards were wounded, killed or drowned, not one 
American lost his life. 



Night cast her sable mantle o'er the scene, 

The rippling waters murmured in the bay ; 
The drowsy watchman saw no moonlight sheen 

Eeflected on the waters far away. 
His thoughts had turned from bloody strife and 
war. 

Back to his peaceful home in sunny Spain ; 
And as he looked with steadfast gaze afar, 

In fancy he had wandered home again. 



148 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

His thoughts reverted to the ones he loved, 

A wife and children or a sweetheart true; 
In darkest midnight hour his soul was moved, 

And silent tears fell as the evening dew. 
This lonely sentinel in reverie was lost, 

Nor could he well those pleasant dreams forego, 
So on he dreamed, unmindful of the cost, 

Unmindful of the coming foreign foe. 



When the shades of night had disappeared. 

And morning o'er the waters brightly spread, 
A mighty fleet into the bay had veered. 

By the ship Olympia onward led. 
The cannon's warning from the fortress rolled; 

Each Spanish heart is filled with wild surprise. 
Yet out they sail to meet their f oemen bold. 

And for his country each one bravely dies. 



Brave men must now no longer dream of love. 

Their duty now to kill and not to save; 
No longer now the pure and spotless dove 

Of peace shall hover o'er the sailor brave. 
Eelentless passion in each heart is rife. 

Every kindly thought has passed away; 
Men now must struggle in a deadly strife, 

Their fellowmen to overcome and slay. 



Thoughts in Prose mid Rhyme. 149 

The fortress guns ring out a warning peal, 

The Spanish ships line up in bold array; 
Columbia's answer comes from mouths of steel, 

The battle opens with the opening day. 
The great combatants now are face to face, 

Each striving the advantage to obtain, 
Each working for the most strategic place, 

Unmindful of the hundreds who are slain. 



The battle rages and the fitful moans 

Of heroes wounded, fill the balmy air; 
The cannon's roar, the sailor's dying groans. 

Break rudely on that Sabbath morning fair. 
The smoky clouds uplift. An awful sight 

Presents its horrors to the startled view; 
Well might the sun refuse to shed her light — 

The Spanish hosts the bloody deck bestrew. 

And yet the deadly missiles forth are hurled, 

The scene is lighted by destructive fire, 
Christina's flag in lurid light is furled — 

This noble ship becomes a funeral pyre. 
The Don Juan, riddled by a deadly shot. 

Sent by a gunner whose eyesight is true. 
Goes to the bottom, there to be forgot. 

While rousing cheers break from the boys in 
blue. 



150 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

The forts are silenced, and the Spanish fleet, 

With hundreds of that gallant Spanish crew 
That boldly went, Columbia's ships to meet, 

Have disappeared as does the morning dew. 
Where now the proud and vaunting Spanish host ? 

Where now their naval strength and armies 
brave ? 
The fickle goddess frowns and all is lost — 

No boasted chivalry the day can save. 



Spain's mighty fleet is sunk beneath the wave. 

Her proud flotilla wrecked upon the sea; 
A host of Spaniards finds a watery grave, 

And Dewey wins a glorious victory. 
The God of battles is our strength and guide. 

We fight to set a stricken nation free. 
And no ill fortune shall our cause betide — 

Only through blood is purchased liberty. 



The Veteran's Dream 

UXUhEN the civil war broke out in the United 
States, a young attorney-at-law, who had more 
time to devote to his country than he had briefs 
on which to practice law, when President Lincoln 
made his first call for troops to put down the re- 
bellion, was among the first to volunteer. Patriot- 
ism prompted him to give five of the best years of 
his life in defense of his country's flag. After 
passing through various hardships, being wound- 
ed, and spending several months in Libby prison, 
when the war was ended he returned to his old 
home to associate once more with his friends of 
former days, and to commune again with those 
whom he fondly loved. Time, however — ^merci- 
less, ceaseless time — ^had wrought many changes. 
Before he left home, five years before, he stood 
beneath the shadow of the trees and told the story 
of his love to a beautiful young lady; and there 
beneath the moon's pale light, with nothing but 
the stars to listen to the whispered words, their 
troth was plighted, and their marriage was to oc- 
cur when he returned from the war. For a time, 



152 Thoughts in Prose mid Rhyme, 

after his departure, they corresponded, and re- 
peatedly renewed the promises which were so sol- 
emnly given, as they stood together beneath the 
trees some months before. When he was thrown 
into prison, all communication ceased between 
them, and from that time till he returned home, 
they did not hear from each other. After his re- 
turn, learning that she on whom he had lavished 
the richness of his love was dead, and all that was 
left for him was a cold marble slab, pointing up- 
ward, suggestive of his loved one's home among 
the angels of light, he was broken-hearted, and 
lived only to mourn for her whom he had loved 
and lost. After a time he resumed the practice of 
law, but there were times when his mind became 
a blank to his immediate surroundings and he 
lived over again the days of his courtship and love. 
As he grew older, these aberrations of mind be- 
came more noticeable, and during the closing years 
of his life he was pronounced, on that particular 
subject, harmlessly insane. During these periods 
he walked again with his loved one, and she ap- 
peared to him in his hours of solitude, and in his 
fitful fancy they held sweet communion. For sev- 
eral years prior to his death he was a recluse, his 
only companion, so far as mortals knew, being his 
faithful dog ; and apparently his only comfort was 
his pipe, which he constantly smoked. One day 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 153 

his neighbors noticed that he was not around his 
cottage home as usual, and upon investigation, 
with his pipe in his hands, his faithful dog by his 
side, he was found sitting in his chair— dead. He 
had, gone to join the spirit of his loved one, and 
wander with her on the banks of the stream that 
flows by the everlasting city. 



As the old man sat in his easy chair, 

And smoked his pipe of clay. 
The face of a loved one, young and fair, 
Appeared to him in the moving air, 

As he blew the wreaths away. 

'Twas the face of a maiden pure and bright, 

Wreathed in a heavenly smile; 
With hair as dark as the darkest night. 
With eyes that shone as the morning light, 

But her smile was sad the while. 



As this image caught the old man's eye. 

He looked with a startled gaze. 
Then backward sank with a broken sigh — 
He knew that his sweetheart hovered nigh — 
And it filled him with amaze. 



154 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

Then the old man's thoughts went back apace, 

To the times of long ago, 
And he conjured up the time and place, 
When he gazed with rapture on that face. 

For the old man loved her so ! 



Oh swiftly have fled the passing years. 

But the memory lingers there, 
Throught buoyant hopes and saddening fears. 
The image of a loved one, lost, appears — 

The face of a maiden fair. 



That heavenly picture comes again. 

As a vision from above; 
The joy of that time shall ever remain. 
When wooing, he wooed her not in vain. 

When he won that maiden's love. 



The angel of death went out to reap. 

His sickle was sharp and bright; 
Her lover was left alone to weep. 
The maiden sank in an endless sleep 
^nd woke in the realms of light. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 155 

All through life like a beautiful dream, 

In the midst of pain and strife, 
A brilliant ray of hope would seem 
To come to him as- a joyous beam, 

To cheer that old man's life. 



The old man sits in his great arm chair, 

The smoke rings flitting away; 
His wrinkled brow is marked with care. 
But the image of his sweetheart, fair^ 
Eemains for ever and aye. 



The old man sits in his easy chair, 

A lifeless piece of clay ; 
The smoke of his pipe flecks not the air. 
Nor dreams he now of a sweetheart fair- 

His spirit has flown away. 



His soul has gone to a mystic shore, 

Away from this world of care; 
His sorrows and troubles all are o'er, 
He'll part from that image never more, 
From that sainted maiden fair^ 



The Nation's Dead 

(JpVERY nation can point with pride, mingled 
with sorrow, to the monuments erected to their 
country's dead, marking the final resting place 
of those who have died in battle, whose loyalty 
impelled them to protect their families and theit 
homes, and die in defence of their country's flag. 
War is a terrible thing, and nothing more appall- 
ing can come to a nation than to be at war with 
another, or to be engaged in internescine strife. 
One of our wisest men, well informed by practi- 
cal experience on the subject, compared war to 
the infernal regions, saying: ^'War is hell"; and 
this is about as nearly correct as any definition 
which can be given of such a dreadful calamity. 
Property destroyed, the country laid waste, beau- 
tiful homes devastated, firesides rendered deso- 
late, loved ones slain — all because difficulties be- 
tween nations cannot be settled without bloodshed 
and death. To contemplate anything so uncivil- 
ized causes thinking people to shudder for the 
very horror of it, and urges them to hope and 
pray that the time will speedily come when all 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 157 

international disputes will be settled by arbitra- 
tion — ^^when men their swords to plow shares 
beat, to pruning hooks their spears/' and when 
war shall be known no more. Until that time 
comes it is right and proper that we pay homage 
to the nation's dead, and honor and respect the 
memory of those who have fallen in their coun- 
try's cause. A man may be mistaken as to his 
duty, or he may fight and die for a principle 
which he believes to be right, but which may not 
be fair and just ; but he is none the less deserving 
of credit and appreciation, so let us^ as citizens 
of one great country, in future do honor alike to 
the blue and the gray, believing that both thought 
their cause to be just. (This poem was written 
for the occasion, and read at Ft. McPherson Na- 
tional Cemetery.) 



With faces to the summer sky upturned, 

The country's brave rest in an endless sleep; 
The nation's dead are by the living mourned, 

While o'er their graves the tender-hearted 
weep. 
No more by them the rolling drum is heard, 

No more by them the bugle's clarion blast; 
Their souls no more by martial music stirred — 

The scenes of battle are forever past. 



158 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Many are the loved ones slumbering here, 

Who gallantly have met their country's foes, 
Whose loyal hearts have never quaked with fear, 

Slumbering now in undisturbed repose. 
The silent grave enfolds them to her breast. 

The springing grass becomes their funeral 
pall ; 
They gently slumber in an endless rest — 

No more they answer to the nation's call. 

On many graves is marked the word, *^ Un- 
known, ' ' 

Yet where they rest is consecrated ground; 
Perchance a mother's wand 'ring, wayward son. 

Within these walls a resting-place has found. 
Though none can tell of them, nor whence they 
came, 

Nor who they are, nor what they once had been. 
Though each head-stone is found without a name. 

Yet by the living are their graves kept green. 

Each year we on their graves the flowers strew, 
And weep with those who over loved ones 
weep; 
Each year the living with their tears bedew 
Death's chambers, where these gallant heroes 
sleep. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 159 

For acts of bravery done we homage pay, 
To strangers, and to those we fondly love, 

Thus we commemorate each Decoration Day, 
Till we shall meet them in the realms above. 



The cycling years forever roll away. 

The nation's dead awaken never more; 
No more they stand in battle's stern array. 

No more they hear the cannon 't deafening roar. 
Children may prattle o'er each grassy mound, 

Yet on they slumber, lying side by side ; 
Night spreads her sable mantle all around. 

They know the dawn which has no even- tide. 



Hobsons Choice 

XT HE 19th of May, 1898, the Spanish fleet, under 
the command of Admiral Cervera, entered the 
placid waters of Santiago de Cuba, and there was 
blockaded by the United States battleships. Ad- 
miral Sampson, with the other officers of the 
American fleet, formulated a plan whereby the 
Spanish could be prevented from escaping from 
the trap of their own setting. The scheme was 
to so obstruct the narrow passage of the harbor 
that ingress and egress would be impossible. In 
order to accomplish this they resolved to sink an 
old and heavy ship, called the Merrimac, across 
the channel, so that the Spanish would be effect- 
ually prevented from escaping from the pen in 
which they found themselves, and at the entrance 
to which such a formidable guard was stationed. 
The 3rd day of June the assistant naval construc- 
tor, Richard P. Hobson, volunteered to do the re- 
quired work, and, with a detachment of seven 
brave fellows like himself, performed that daring 
exploit, which so greatly aroused the enthusiasm 
of his countrymen. They took the Merrimac un- 
der the fire of both Spanish batteries and fleet 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 161 

into the narrow passage of the harbor, and by 
the use of torpedoes sunk her almost crosswise 
in the channel. The fact that the undertaking 
was not effectual did not mar the heroism of Hob- 
son and the brave fellows who undertook such a 
dangerous task. After they had sunk the old 
vessel they pulled away in a boat, signaled the 
Spanish officers, and were captured without the 
loss of one man! 



It hes bin told an' told ag'in 

The chap who hes the pluck, 
He will succeed in gittin' thar, 

By courage more nor luck. 
Chaps hitherto not known to fame, 

Hev conquered crime an' wrong — 
The worl' ov them hes heroes made, 

Their praises sung in song. 

The ridin' ov the Light Brigade 

Made loyal hearts tu swell— 
Some one blundered, yet they rode 

Inter the mouth of hell. 
With Nolan through the jaws ov death, 

They charged as Britons do. 
An' with their latest, gasping breath. 

Proved to their country true. 



162 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

You hev hearn about John Maynard 

Who bravely held the wheel, 
Until thet blazin' boat, ill-starred, 

Grated her burnin' keel 
Upon the land, an' each scared soul 

Who stood upon the deck 
Was filled with joy to reach a goal 

Safe from the burnin' wreck. 



But when it comes to gallant acts. 

When death is lurkin' near. 
Here air some brave an' darin' deeds 

Which fill our hearts with cheer; 
They show thet Yankees hev the pluck 

To do brave, darin' deeds. 
An' though you call it fate or luck. 

The Yankee boy succeeds. 



It was Sampson's bold intention. 

In war 'twere not a sin, 
Through well-planned intervention, 

To shut the Spanish in. 
So Sampson called for darin' men 

To act with him thet day. 
To take the ol' ship, Merrimac, 

An' sink her in the bay. 



Thoughts in Prose and Ehyme, 163 

Eight darin' men air quickly found, 

All ov 'em young in years, 
Who feared not to be shot or drowned. 

Each ov 'em volunteers; 
They took the oV ship, Merrimac, 

An' sunk her in the bay. 
An' then the Spanish vessels lacked 

A chance to git away. 



I hev told this story simply, 

In a modest, truthful way, 
How the boys were crowned with glory 

At ol' Santiago bay; 
So runnin' through the years ov time. 

All with united voice. 
Will sing ov this brave deed in rhyme, 

An' tell ov Hobson's choice. 




^Remember the Maine 

UiU HEN the rebellion broke out in Cuba against 
Spanish authority in that island, it was natural 
that Americans should sympathize with those 
who were fighting for independence, and render 
some assistance to the Cuban cause. This and 
various other causes brought about a feeling of 
extreme dislike to Spain and her dominion in the 
West Indies. This feeling of dissatisfaction with 
Spanish dominion in Cuba was precipitated into 
an open rupture through the destruction of the 
Maine, one of the favorite battleships of the 
United States navy. The Maine had entered the 
harbor of Havana as the battleship of a friendly 
nation, but from her first appearance was looked 
upon by the Spaniards with feelings of distrust 
and prejudice. Her presence in the harbor was 
denounced in unmeasured terms, the Spanish say- 
ing the Maine was sent to taunt them, and if pos- 
sible, get them to commit some overt act which 
would give the United States the desired pretext 
to assist the Cubans in their struggle against 
Spanish authority. On the evening of the 15th 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme 165 

of February, 1898, while the Maine was peace- 
fully riding at anchor in the harbor of Havana, 
a dreadful explosion occurred, the battleship was 
a total wreck, and 266 American seamen went 
down to instant death. When the news of the 
awful catastrophe was flashed over the wires, it 
produced the greatest sensation in the United 
States, and the anger of the people knew no 
bounds. The cry for satisfaction went up from 
every state in the Union, and the people demand- 
ed of the President that war be instantly de- 
clared. Shortly after this terrible disaster oc- 
curred, war was declared, and the battle-cry of 
*^ Remember the Maine'' was echoed and re- 
echoed until it rang throughout the length and 
breadth of the land, and became our war-cry on 
land and sea. 



To the sounding of the bugle, 

The rolling of the drum. 
From New York to California 

Our gallant boys have come; 
They are bravely speeding forward 

On each succeeding train. 
To wreck vengeance on the Spaniards 

For wrecking of the Maine. 



166 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

With their banners proudly flying 

They take the tented field; 
Cuba's wrongs the written watchword 

On every burnished shield; 
They fight not that we may possess 

One Cuban hill or plain, 
But to avenge our sailor lads 

Who perished on the Maine. 



As in the days of Washington, 

Men struggled to be free, 
And drove the proud oppressor 

To his home across the sea, 
So the Cubans ask for freedom. 

Nor shall they ask in vain, 
For we shall fight and overcome 

The wreckers of the Maine. 



The god of battles shall adjudge 

The cause for which we fight. 
To be the cause of those oppressed. 

Of freedom and of right ; 
So he will aid our gallant boys 

The victory to obtain, 
And drive from Cuba's stricken shores 

The wreckers of the Maine. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 167 

Our battleship and cruisers, too, 

Shall scour the raging seas, 
Till every ship with tyrant's flag 

From western waters flees ; 
Till our army and our navy 

Tear down the flag of Spain — 
Eaise Cuba's flag of freedom 

In honor of the Maine. 



We intend to drive the tyrant from 

The western hemisphere. 
God grant that shouts of victory 

May echo far and near. 
So that when the war is over. 

And the boys come home again, 
Oujr sailors then shall be avenged 

Who perished on the Maine. 




T)ewey an' the German 

/^ SHORT time after Dewey received instruc- 
tions from his government to find the Spanish 
fleet and destroy it wherever found, the gallant 
admiral was forming the acquaintance and get- 
ting on terms of the closest intimacy with the 
inhabitants of Manila bay. During his occupan- 
cy of those waters, a German ship undertook to 
land breadstuff s and other articles for the benefit 
of the Spanish army. Admiral Dewey objected 
to the operation which the Kaiser's ship was 
endeavoring to bring to a successful termination, 
and remonstrated with the commander on the 
course being pursued. The captain of the Ger- 
man vessel felt quite indignant that he should be 
interfered with in such peremptory manner, and 
intimated that he would land his cargo in the 
harbor at Manila whether the American admiral 
was, or was not, willing. He also intimated that, 
if necessary, he would use his guns to accomplish 
what he had undertaken and which he so ardently 
desired to complete. However, the stern words 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 169 

of the American admiral, and his warlike atti- 
tude very quickly put a quietus on any attempt 
by the German ship to land her cargo; and in 
a measure opened the eyes of the world to the 
fact that it was dangerous to trifle with Uncle 
Sam. 



Yew hev hearn ov Dewey, ain't yew, 

Who made a winnin' fight 
Agin the combined Spanish fleet 

By airly mornin' light! 
Yew hev hearn ov Dewey, ain't yew. 

Who stole into the bay. 
An' slaughtered ov the Spaniards 

In a most inspirin' way? 



Yew hev hearn ov Dewey, ain't yew. 

Who whipped the gosh-darn-lot 
An' consigned 'em to the bottom. 

There to petrify an' rot? 
Yew hev hearn ov Dewey, ain't yew. 

Who sank the Spanish fleet. 
And was ready when the time came 

Another fleet to meet! 



170 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Wal this same feller, Dewey, saw 

A German t'other day 
Who wished to tote some bread-stuffs 

To the Spaniards in the bay; 
Our Admiral sed he musn't go, 

The German sed he would. 
But Dewey smiled and blandly sed, 

^^He didn't think he could." 



The German sed he'd use his guns 

To git the bread-stuffs in; 
^'Two kin play at that air game," 

Sed Dewey with a grin. 
The German sed, ^^Off dose pread sdoffs 

Do harbor ich should pring, 
Und dot oldt fellow goes for mich. 

He wouldn't Dewey ding." 



The German took his bread-stuffs off, 

To land he didn't try, 
Fer Dewey sed he better not ^ 

An' wunk his other eye. 
An' so this trifflin' trouble came 

Quite quickly to an end. 
But Dewey he was gol-darned quick 
Our honor to defend. 



Thoughts in Prose amd Rhyme. 171 

He wanted no blamed foolishness 

Where he was wont to be, 
For if there was he'd send 'em to 

The bottom ov the sea. 
So from this story warnin' take, 

Don't be a foolish clam, 
An' don't be mixin' in a row 

Agin ol' Uncle Sam. 




The Soldier "Boy's Death 

iJlt/ ANY a lock of hair, treasured by loving moth- 
er, sister, wife or friend, is held sacred because 
it belonged to a dear one who has passed to the 
great beyond. Many a triffling keepsake, the in- 
trinsic value of which is small, could not be bought 
for a hundred times its real value, because it 
once belonged to some one greatly beloved, and is 
held as a remembrancer of that one who has tak- 
en the long, lone journey to the other shore. 
Especially are these little trinkets preserved and 
treasured, when one of our friends bids us good- 
bye in perfect health, hurries away on some im- 
portant mission, but returns not again to greet us. 
In time of national danger, when the loyal and 
the brave are called to defend our country's honor 
and her flag, if one of our dear ones joins the 
ranks and departs to die on the battle field, or 
worse, to succumb to disease in some foreign 
clime, every little keepsake is held above price, 
because it reminds us of the one who has gone. 
While the war with Spain was of short duration, 
^ji4 our losses were comparatively small, yet we 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 173 

mourn many dear ones whose places are now va- 
cant in many an American home; and many a 
mother 's tears silently fall as she views the sacred 
mementoes of a son who died for his country. 
Much is said and written about the glory of dying 
for one's country, but only those who have suf- 
fered from hardship, privation, sickness and bat- 
tle, can fully appreciate how dearly the glory is 
bought. Only those who have been actual partic- 
ipants in its horrors, can fully understand the 
awful calamities of war. It is a condition which 
only the more brutal enjoy, and one, too, which 
no peace-loving citizen can contemplate without 
a feeling of horror. It is ardently hoped the 
time will soon come when men shall learn war 
no more, but when all international difficulties 
shall be settled without recourse to arms. 



'Tis nothing but a lock of hair. 

Clipped from a youthful head. 
And yet it tells of one beloved, 

Now numbered with the dead. 
It speaks of one whose life went out 

Upon the tented field. 
Who for his love of liberty, 

A love divine revealed. 



174 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

In answer to his country's call, 

With patriotic zeal, 
He bade farewell to friends and home, 

Nor heeded love's appeal 
To stay with those dear to his heart — 

Such pleasure he denied — 
With tearful eyes but loyal soul. 

He went, and bravely died. 



Tho' in his dire distress and need. 

When fever racked his brain. 
He called for them and longed to hear 

Their voices once again ; 
No mother's loving touch was his. 

No sister's fond caress; 
No brother's kindly voice to cheer, 

No father's prayer to bless. 



He died and though we mourn his loss, 

Joy comes through bitter tears; 
We hear the Master's voice which speaks, 

And drives away our fears. 
It says: **For freedom's cause let none 

The soldier's love deride; 
I loved a stricken sin-cursed world. 

And for that world I died." 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 175 

Above his grave a pure, white shaft 

Points to the skies above, 
A fitting emblem to proclaim. 

His patriotic love. 
He loved his country and for her 

His youthful life was given; 
He crossed the great divide alone, 

But waits for us in heaven. 



Oh, proudly wave our country's flag. 
Above the soldier's grave! 

Let all the living homage pay. 
To loyal hearts, and brave. 

Let coming generations sing 
Their paeans loud and long. 
And to the bravery of our sons, 

Break forth in joyous song. 




The Soldier's Return 



iKUHEN war with its concomitant evils comes to 
a nation, there is always more or less of excitement. 
The activity displayed in the various industries 
more immediately effected, the movement of 
armed men to the scene of the conflict, the raising 
of companies in different localities, the departure 
of the troops, the farewells then spoken, all serve 
to quicken the pulse and string up our nerves to 
the very highest tension. But the home-coming 
is the time when our feelings are wrought up to 
the very highest point of expectancy. After the 
war is over, when peace has been declared, when 
the boys are mustered out of service, when the 
government no longer has need of them, when they 
are returning to resume their accustomed voca- 
tions our hearts are filled with an eager longing 
to welcome those home again who have been de- 
fending the principles of freedom and right, and 
fighting for the down-trodden and the oppressed. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 111 

It is a grand sight to watch the great review, to 
watch the boys marching past, to see the banners 
streaming in the wind, to note the flags waving, 
and to hear the shouts of welcome which come 
from hundreds of throats as company after com- 
pany moves past with martial tread. But with 
it all there comes a feeling of sadness, and tears 
course silently down our cheeks, for some have 
gone away from home, have left those they dearly 
loved, never more to return. They have fallen 
in defense of flag and home, and their mortal re- 
mains rest in the hallowed grave of the soldier. 
There in death's narrow prison cell they lonely 
lie. No kindly hand scatters flowers on their 
grave, no mother bends over the grassy mound 
to weep, no friend is there to drop a kindly tear, 
but when the dead shall rise, these shall come 
forth to their reward. 



Echoing notes are sadly falling 

Over distant hill and plain. 
Each with regretful cadence calling, 

^'Will the boys come home again 
Will we extend to each a greeting. 

When the boys come home to stay? 
Yes, there will be a happy meeting, 

On some future, joyous day. 






178 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

Some of the boys are homeward wending, 

We shall meet them face to face; 
Mothers with their arms extending, 

Wait to clasp in fond embrace. 
Some far across the ocean, sighing 

For their loved ones once again; 
Some far in Chickamanga dying. 

Some are numbered with the slain. 



Our tears with others' tears are blending. 

Mourning for the loyal brave; 
Those who died their flag defending. 

Those who found a soldier's grave. 
The shadows from our hearts are falling, 

Shouts are ringing o'er the plain; 
The bugle blast is gladly calling: 

^'Soldier boys are home again." 



Behold ^^Old Glory" proudly Waving, 
As each company moves along; 

Victory on each banner blazing- 
All the air is rich with song. 

The guns are booming, bells are ringing. 
Uncle Sam in gala dress. 

Friendship and joy to Cuba bringing — 
Peace has come to cheer and bless. 



)3Dn the 26th day of April, 1898, the proclama- 
tion of war, between the United States and Spain, 
was formally issued by the United States govern- 
ment; and on the 27th of April the batteries of 
Matanzas were bombarded by Admiral Sampson's 
flagship, the New York, one or two other ships par- 
ticipating in the attack. At this time, lying in 
Mirs Bay, on the Chinese coast, north of Hong 
Kong, was the Pacific squadron of the United 
States, under the command of Commodore George 
Dewey. He had been informed by cable of the 
progress of events in the United States, and he 
had his fleet in readiness when the declaration of 
war was issued. Under the rules of international 
law, he was notified by the Chinese authorities 
to depart from neutral waters within forty-eight 
hours. With everything in readiness for the 
emergency of war, he promptly obeyed the man- 
date; and was next heard of when he tried con- 
clusions with Admiral de Montojo's Spanish fleet, 



180 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

wliich was also in Pacific waters, its business in 
that part of the world being the protection of the 
Philippine Islands. Dewey had received instruc- 
tions from his government to find the Spanish 
fleet and to destroy it wherever found. How well 
he obeyed his instructions, and how literally and 
completely Montojo's fleet was destroyed, are im- 
portant facts in United States history. On that — 
to the Spaniards — fateful Sunday morning. May 
1st, the two fleets met in Manila Bay, and when 
this great naval engagement ended, there was 
but one, of the two fleets, in existence and that 
belonged to the United States. The other had 
been blown to pieces, burned and destroyed. It 
certainly was a Dewey morning and the Spaniards 
met with a very Dewey reception. 



It was Dewey on thet mornin' 

In the Dewey month ov May, 
When Dewey with his battleships 

Sailed up thet Dewey bay. 
When the sun ris in its splendor 

On thet Dewey horizon, 
Dewey's decks were cleared fer action 

To Dewey Spanish Don. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 181 

When the Spanish saw thet Dewey 

With Dewey's boys in blue, 
Was in line ov battle formin' 

To Dewey thing or two, 
They got ready fer the fightin', 

But they didn't Dewey thing 
Fer Dewey's guns on battlements 

Made Dewey bullets ring. 



So Dewey hurled the Spanish Dons 

Inter the Dewey wave. 
An' hundreds ov their fightin' men 

Now fill a Dewey grave. 
They got a Dewey breakfast there, 

That made their stomachs ache. 
Which taught them Admiral Dewey 

Was not a Dewey fake. 



Now floatin' o'er the battlements 

The Dewey flag is seen, 
Unfurlin' from a Spanish staff 

Where Spanish flag hed bin. 
So Dewey's flag is flyin' high, 

His ships are in the bay, 
On account ov Dewey's battle 

Thet Dewey month ov May. 



182 Thoughts in Prose cmd Rhyme, 

With Dewey in tlie harbor, boys, 

Insurgents in the field, 
The Spanish honored Dewey when 

Their forces hed to yield. 
'Twas too Dewey fer the Spaniards, 

The Philippines they quit — 
It was Dewey on thet mornin' — 

It's very Dewey yit. 



Then hurrah for Admiral Dewey! 

We'll have a Dewey time! 
We will tell ov Dewey's battle 

In very Dewey ryhme. 
We will sing ov Admiral Dewey, 

By Dewey mornin' light, 
An' name our children Dewey, 

To remember Dewey's fight. 




The Blue and Gray 



T WAS but natural that the war of secession, in 
which several of the States attempted to disinte- 
grate this Union and establish the Southern Con- 
federacy, should engender feelings of animosity 
between North and South which time alone could 
heal. Although these feelings have in a great 
measure died out, and a more friendly spirit now 
predominates, yet in the hearts of some of the 
more radical who participated in that aWful and 
greatly to be deplored struggle, there yet exists 
a tendency to cling to old prejudices which long 
since should have been forgotten. It may be, 
however, that only the passing away of those who 
took part in that great internescine conflict, will 
completely remove the last vestige of bitterness 
which has controlled so many who fought for or 
against the Union as their course agreed with 
their teachings and their principles. The time, 
however, has come when all hatred should be bur- 
ied, when all prejudice should be forgotten, and 
when North and South should move forward as 
one people with the same interests, the same de- 
sires, and be actuated by feelings of loyalty and 



184 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

patriotism which should characterize a united and 
satisfied people. It is a source of great gratifica- 
tion to note that the veterans who were engaged 
on either side in that memorable struggle meet 
together as friends and brothers and discuss the 
incidents of the war in a manner, and in that 
friendly spirit, which indicates that, at least, there 
has been a joining of hands and a union of hearts 
between the combatants of that great civil war. 
In order to show respect for their courageous foes, 
Union men strew flowers on the Southern soldier's 
grave; and the people of the South decorate the 
graves of Northern men who lost their lives in 
the sunny South. The tears of North and South 
are mingled together and, as they moisten the last 
resting place of the Nation's dead, they wash 
away all enmity from the hearts of a generous 
people, and unite in the bonds of friendship and 
love, the Blue and the Gray. 

A soldier stood with head bowed down 

Beside a grassy grave; 
And tears unbidden filled his eyes, 

Shed for the fallen brave. 
A soldier slept beneath the sod, 

On which that hero stood. 
Who for the cause he loved the best, 

Had shed his precious blood. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 185 

He laid a bunch of roses white 

Upon the resting place 
Of him who died for principle, 

Then upward turned his face 
And said : ' ' Though I may not fully know 

The Lord's eternal plan, 
I know the soldier of the South 

Is still my brother man. 



What though he wore a suit of gray. 

And I a dress of blue ; 
What tho ' in different ranks we fought, 

Each to his teachings true; 
I censure not my brother — dead. 

But in this sacred hour. 
Upon his final resting place, 

I place a milk-white flower. 



Pure emblem of a lasting love 

Which fills each loyal heart; 
A pledge that former bitterness 

Shall from my soul depart. 
I pledge myself and comrades, dear, 

By Him who rules above, 
That for the South we harbor not 

A thought but that of love/' 



186 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

I saw this soldier sadly turn, 

And slowly walk away; 
And as he went, a snmbeam bright, 

Struck where the flower lay ; 
With loving light it kissed the rose, 

And by its gentle ray, 
It sealed the bond of friendship true. 

Between the Blue and Gray. 





We live not fot outselves alone," 



To ^my 

JrOR more than thirty years the lady who is the 
subject of this poem has been the bosom compan- 
ion and help-meet of the writer, and, unless she 
turns him adrift, he expects to live with her the 
balance of his days. During all these years, as 
husband and wife, we have had our periods of 
prosperity and our seasons of adversity; joys and 
sorrows have been our portion; death has called 
at our home and carried away three budding flow- 
ers for a time intrusted to our care ; the responsi- 
bility of rearing a large family has rested upon 
us ; pleasures and griefs we have mutually shared, 
and during that time, with its changing scenes, we 
have been comparatively happy. She has been a 
true, loving, devoted woman of kindly disposition 
and tender heart, ever ready to devote her ener- 
gies to the happiness of others. Sometimes the 
rolling pin may have entered into our domestic 
discussions, and the broom made some sweeping 
impressions, but these trifling diversions have 
only served to strengthen the ties which bound us 



188 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

together so many years ago. Now, that we are 
passing down the western slope, the fervid fancies 
of youth have given way to calm reflection, and 
some light missile hurled with woman's unerring 
aim, has taken the place of her former arguments 
to enforce domestic tranquility. Jokes aside, deep 
in his heart, in so far as the happiness of married 
life is concerned, the author feels he has been 
blessed much above his deserts, and if it is so 
ordered that he should first be called to stem the 
chilly waters, his ardent desire is that she whom 
he has always been proud to call ^^wife'' may 
draw near with him to the river 's brink, and when 
dissolution comes, her gentle, loving hands may 
close his weary eyes, and her kiss be the last im- 
printed on his lifeless lips. 



The shades of night were falling fast, 

And o'er the earth in colors gray, 
Dame twilight had her mantle cast. 

As gently closed departing day; 
The evening songsters in the vale. 

The ^'Whip-poor-will," in plaintive tone, 
Proclaimed alike o'er hill and dale: 

''We live not for ourselves alone." 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 189 

When with the one I fondly loved, 

Dear Amy, gentle, pure and kind, 
I to the beck'ning forest moved. 

Nor sighed to leave the world behind ; 
Now walking 'neath the shady trees. 

Her hand clasped fondly in my own, 
This whisper floated on the breeze, 

*^We live not for ourselves alone." 



Deeply we pondered o'er the sound, 

Borne gently on the evening air; 
Seek as we would, above, around. 

No human form seemed lurking there; 
So in that quiet even-tide, 

I said to her in love's fond tone, 
^^Be mine." In answer Amy sighed, 

^^We live not for ourselves alone." 



The years have fled, and creeping age 

Has marked the wrinkles on her face ; 
But all along life's varied page, 

I read her loveliness and grace ; 
Her hair has turned to silvery white. 

Her buoyant step more feeble grown; 
In her this motto meets my sight : 

"We live not for ourselves alone." 



190 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

The journey soon for us will end, 

The evening of our life draws near; 
To nature 's stern decree we bend, 

And kiss the rod without a fear ; 
A few more fleeting years at most, 

And death will claim us for his own. 
May these words be our loudest boast : 

**We lived not for ourselves alone." 




Blanche of Innisvah 

aIUHERE are a few persons, happily for them, 
who have escaped the loss of a loved one. A darling 
babe, a romping boy, a sweet-faced little girl, a 
loving daughter, a noble son, an affectionate wife, 
a gentle mother, a kind father, a sweetheart or a 
friend, has left us, and in our hearts is a great 
want, which never can be supplied, an aching void 
which can never be filled. In our hearts we have 
erected a monument to denote the loss, and we 
cannot afford to upturn the marble shaft, en- 
graven with our darling's name, and have a 
usurper fill the place sacred to the departed. In 
the innermost recesses of our hearts is enshrined 
the memory of one whom we have loved and lost, 
and we do not intend to tear away the curtain, 
or draw back its folds, to permit the unhallowed, 
unsympathetic gaze of the stranger to view the 
grave of our buried hopes. The poet says : ^ ' 'Tis 
better to have loved and lost, than never to have 
loved at all.'' Truer words were never spoken, 
for he who has never loved has never lived; he 



192 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

who has never been actuated by the divine passion, 
knows little of human joy, and cannot appreciate 
the tenderness and charity of him who has been 
lifted heavenward by the hope of a love returned 
for true love lavishly bestowed, nor can he under- 
stand the agony of soul experienced when that 
love is rejected. It is said, the heart once pierced 
by cupid's shaft, will heal and bleed again. This 
may be, and probably is, true ; but though the heart 
may heal and accept other love, yet often, when 
in a reminiscent mood, we revert to days long past, 
to love long gone. We live over again the sunlight 
of our love, the midnight darkness of our loss and 
sorrow. As we ponder over the past, there surges 
up in our souls the old, old pain, and we hear the 
mournful words : ^ ^ The saddest words of tongue 
or pen are these: *It might have been, it might 
have been.^ '' 



Bleak winter with its cold and snow. 

Its wind with mournful sound. 
Appears my inmost thoughts to know, 

And coldly stealing 'round 
My heart, a dirge of sadness sings — 

A moaning, doleful wail, 
Whose mourning cadence, memories brings 

Of Blanche of Innisvale. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 193 

The winter's snows will melt away, 

The frost will leave the earth; 
Dame Nature moves, without delay 

The Spring time has its birth. 
She comes with bulb, and bud, and leaf, 

And flowers to deck the dale ; 
But nothing can assuage my grief 

For Blanche of Innisvale. 



The summer with its ripening grain. 

And luscious fruit abounds 
To cheer my heart, but all in vain, 

A mournful cry resounds 
Within my soul, filled is my heart 

With a regretful wail. 
Which tells me I was forced to part 

From Blanche of Innisvale. 



The Autumn with its garnered sheaves. 

Its fading summer flowers. 
And yellow tinted, falling leaves. 

Makes bare the shady bowers. 
It shows decay and loss must be. 

Sad loss without avail. 
For who shall give her back to me — 

My Blanche of Innisvale? 



194 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

The changing seasons come and go- 
Sweet hope buoys up my soul — 

A thought steals o'er my fancy, slow, 
Of long sought happy goal. 

Where with the one I fondly love. 
In some secluded dale, 

I shall forever live and move 
With Blanche of Innisvale. 



Oh, for these moments how I sigh ! 

And shall till latest breath 
Shall leave this tenement, and I 

Am cold and still in death. 
My restive spirit will not rest, 

I mourn without avail. 
And sigh for her I love the best. 

Dear Blanche of Innisvale. 



W^ 



Don*t Crowd 

VluHERE are some people in the world who, no 
matter how clear the way or how wide the road, 
are never satisfied unless they are crowding the 
other fellow. They will put themselves to great 
inconvenience to get a chance to give the other fel- 
low a shove, especially if he has been held down 
by adverse circumstances, or through some mis- 
take in life, has been compelled to go back to the 
starting point and begin the race over again. In 
most of us, the brute nature seems to assert itself 
on the slightest provocation, and the moment this 
brute nature gains the ascendency over us, we do 
exactly as do the brutes, puting forth a determined 
effort to destroy the weaker of our kind. He is 
but a miserable poltroon who will not accord to 
others the rights which he enjoys; and yet such 
people exist, who through the unfortunate turn 
of fortune's wheel, are placed in a position which 
they suppose gives them the right to abuse, with- 
out stint, those whose shoe latchets they are not 
worthy to unloosen. This is the kind of coward 
who treats his fellow-man as dogs treat the poor 
unfortunate hound which happens to fall under- 



196 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

neath in the fight. Shun such as you would the 
polecat or the skunk, otherwise— my pen blushes 
as I write — ^you are in great danger of becoming 
odorized with a pernicious fluid similar to that used 
by these little animals as a weapon of defense, and 
so admirably imitated by the genus homo of the 
same family. This is a sad commentary on hu- 
manity ; but it is comforting to know that there are 
good, generous, noble people, the very salt of the 
earth, who are ever ready to assist the fallen, the 
helpless and the distressed. 



Don't alius be a schemin' round, nor violate the 

right, 
A studyin' an' contrivin' through restless day an' 

night. 
To obtain a mean advantage o' the helpless an' 

distressed. 
Or to grab the meagre pittance with which the 

poor is blessed. 
You may keep a crowdin' for'ard, an' boostin' 

all you can; 
But desist from shovin' sidewise agin the other 

man, 
Eememberin' as you alius should, this statement 

old an' true. 
That other fellers on the earth have rights as well 

as you. _ . , 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 197 

You may be rich an' popular with thousands at 

command, 
But if you lack in kindness, or with hold the givin' 

hand. 
Though you speak with tongues o' angels, your 

language none surpass, 
You are like the tinklin' cymbal, or as the soundin' 

brass. 
If you occupy the temple o' learnin' an' o* fame. 
Don't attempt to crowd the climbers who strive 

to reach the same. 
Build up no envious barriers their upward course 

to stop. 
Never thinkin' o' the adage, '^ There's room upon 

the top." 

Don't be pushin' an' a crowdin' in a kind o' spite- 
ful way. 
For although you're up at present, you may fall 

some futur' day. 
This world is blamed onsartin' from startin' to 

the end. 
An' whether rich or whether poor, you alius need 

a friend. 
If you should lend a helpin' hand to those who 

need yer aid, 
Accordin' to the Word you'll be a hundred fold 

repaid ; 
So don't be selfish in your deeds, keep boostin' 

when you can. 
But don't be tryin' in the race to crowd the other 

man. 



Don't Kick 

^HE average man's ability and determination 
to ^'kick'' is frequently remarkable and at all 
times amnsing, until it readies the point of dis- 
gust. Many persons drift into this pernicious 
habit, and become like the Irishman who said, as 
he was moving homeward in a high state of in- 
ebriation, ^^If Biddy has me supper ready, Oi'll 
whup her; if she hasn't it ready, Oi'll whup her; 
and Oi'll whup her anyhow." These people find 
fault for cause, they find fault without cause, and 
they find fault anyway. It makes no difference 
what the circumstances, or how pleasantly they 
are situated, they are not satisfied, and make it 
known by constantly finding fault and pouring 
into the ears of their neighbors and friends a 
history of all their difficulties and troubles. They 
are so accustomed to kicking that, to use a figure 
of speech, some of them stand around on one 
foot, holding the other in readiness for a vigorous 
swing on the slightest provocation. If such peo- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 199 

pie would go some place alone and do their kick- 
ing in solitude they could, in a great measure, 
be forgiven, but any such kindness to others is, 
to them an unknown quantity. In fact, many of 
them take extra trouble to find some person, 
blessed with that commodity w^ich made Job re- 
markable in his day and generation, and pour 
into his patient ears an account of their imagin- 
ary wrongs, until he is ready to faint by the way- 
side from sheer exhaustion; and the most ridic- 
ulous part of it is they never appear to notice or 
care how much they bore others with their tale 
of woes. Go to, go to, ye ^^ kickers.'' Tackle a 
mule 's ear, and come in contact with his pedal ap- 
pendages. 



I hev no kick comin', hev you! 

I git many a bump, 'tis true ; 
But most o' my so called troubles 

Is no thin' more nor less than bubbles. 
Which bust an' disappear in air, 

An' don't show up no more nowhere; 
So I take a fresh hold an' say, 

*^0r feller, keep pullin' away." 



200 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

When things don't tote along jist right, 

I squar np my shoulders an' fight; 
I don't throw up the sponge, not I, 

An' sit down an' sniffle an' cry; 
No, sir-ee, I don't act that way; 

Here's my motto, ^^ Fight an* pray"; 
So 'tain't no kind o' use, you see, 

To talk about kickin' to me. 



Sometimes troubles is hard to bear ; 

I don't mean to say I don't care, 
'Cause I do. It hurts me to find 

Some people is mean an' unkind; 
But I don't go to whine an' kick, 

Fur I think the chap is a brick, 
Who smiles an' has nuthin' to say 

When folks is cussin' him all day. 



I don't jist see why human natur' — 

Though I may learn the fact later — 
Should be so blamed full o' abuse. 

An' meanness an' sich. 'Tain't no use 
To be a gol-darn-skunk an' fuss 

An' swar' an' tear around an' cuss; 
'Cause I know you don't gain nuthin' 

By bein' ornery an' cussin'. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 201 

When things is goin' wrong with you, 

Keep movin' right ahead an' do 
The very best you can; don't quit 

An' hang yer head, an' hev a fit 
0' the blues, or suthin as bad; 

But keep a stiff lip an' be glad 
That things is no worse nor they are — 

Hev yer nerve, brace up an' git thar. 



I hev no kick comin', but you 

May hev suthin' o' that to do; 
If you hev, git yer work in quick. 

Take out yer spite in one big kick; 
But jist listen to me when I say: 

^'Here is my m/otto, ^ Fight an' Pray' "; 
So it ain't no kind o' use, you see. 

To talk about yer kickin to me. 




Makin* a Winn in* 

vLillHEN you hear a young man say: ''This 
world owes me a living/' you may make up your 
mind, if he is thoroughly imbued with this idea, 
until it is removed, he will never amount to 
anything. This world owes every one a living 
who strives after it, who works hard to get it; 
but it owes nothing to anyone who has not the 
will, the energy, the ambition to reach out after 
the opportunities afforded, to fasten on to them 
and to make the most out of them as they move 
in his direction. Probably one of the greatest 
barriers to success, which hundreds meet, is the 
desire to become rich or famous too soon. Be- 
coming wealthy suddenly does not happen, but 
in rare cases. Most men who have grown wealthy 
have done so through incessant labor and strict 
economy. The painter and the sculptor whose 
works to-day are eagerly sought and whose pic- 
tures and pieces sell for enormous sums, made 
many a worthless daub and carved many a use- 
less figure before reaching that stage of perfec- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 203 

tion which makes their works valuable. This is 
true in every avenue of life. If you wish to rank 
with the best in any craft, business or profession, 
you must put forth all your energy and back it 
up with perseverance in order to reach the goal 
of your ambition. While claiming to be an opti- 
mist, it is sometimes feared that many of the 
young people of to-day lack those staunch, rugged 
characteristics which enabled their forefathers 
to oversome difficulties before which the sons and 
daughters timidly shrink and feebly turn aside. 
Our sires were inured to many hardships of 
which we are ignorant, which fitted them to bear 
with alacrity the burdens of life under which we 
would sink and fall. With energy and persever- 
ance, however, the young people of the present 
are bound to succeed. 



You can never m)ake a winnin' by saunterin' 

around. 
An' you cannot leap to riches in one tremendous 

bound ; 
You hev got to keep a-workin' an' plannin' 

mighty fine, 
If you wish to be successful in any chosen line. 



204 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

You should never think o' findin^ gold nuggets in 
the street, 

Nor expect to pick up dollars rollin' underneath 

yer feet; 
No one will push you for'ard to riches, power or 

place; 
Sich things don't often happen in life's great 

runnin' race. 



Jist keep a workin' an' a doin', fix yer ambition 
high. 

An' grab on to present chances in the twinklin' 

o' an eye; 
You hev got to keep a climbin' or fall beside the 

way; 
When you raise yer ladder higher, drive a peg 

to make it stay. 
Cinch yer belt a little tighter, then buckle in an' 

figlit, 
An' be sure that all yer efforts are on the side o' 

right; 
When travelin' on life's journey, erect yer stan- 
dard high. 
An' never change a muscle when temptation 

reaches nigh. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 205 

Keep yer eye upon the target, an' yer hand upon 

the gun, 
When the battle rages fiercest never think to turn 

an' run; 
Keep a-pushin' an' a-climbin' with all yer might 

an' main. 
You are bound to win the battle by usin' brawn 

an' brain. 
Seatterin' smiles o 'pleasantness wherever want 

is found, 
Jist make a world o' poverty with happiness 

abound ; 

Then you may live contentedly in quietude an' 
health, 

Eememberin' you the steward are o' God's 
aboundin' wealth. 




Pa Led in Prayer 

iIUHERE are probably few men to-day, blessed 
with a vivid imagination and a keen appreciation 
of the ludricous, who cannot look back to their 
boyhood days and remember several laughable 
incidents in which their respected father played 
the leading part and acted it, too, in a way to 
affect their risibilities for months afterwards. 
How many men of the present can recall the fact 
that they were frequently forbidden to do certain 
acts which were practiced before their eyes by 
their paternal ancestor. Nor has the custom be- 
come obsolete, for at the present day parents con- 
tinually reprove their children for doing those 
things which the parents have made a part of 
their daily life ; and it is not an overdrawn state- 
ment to say that the father has been heard to 
swear at his sons in the most shocking manner 
for swearing. Another instance of the contradic- 
tory course pursued by certain persons is the true 
story of the father who severely punished his boy 
for stealing a trifling article from a playmate, 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 207 

but who had no hesitation, or apparent compunc- 
tion, about going the next night and stealing half 
a ton of coal from the railroad, justifying his act 
by saying that corporations were robbing the peo- 
ple and, therefore, it was no sin to purloin their 
property. Most mortals are a bundle of incon- 
sistencies, keeping a very close watch over the 
lives of others, being ever ready to criticise their 
conduct, but always failing to discover their own 
shortcomings. We sometimes do things on the 
spur of the moment, or under great provocation, 
which are afterwards deeply regretted, and for 
which there is some excuse; but when everything 
is summed up, example is a more powerful teach- 
er than precept, and if we expect our children to 
be truthful and honest we must set the example. 



Pa was a member of the church, a Christian good 
and true, 

And oftentimes good people came my Pa to in- 
terview ; 

They vowed he was a pious man, whose heart was 
filled with grace. 

And tho' reserved 'twas hard to find a man to fill 
Pa's place. 



208 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

The circuit preacher always said when on his 

weekly round, 
A cosy, pleasant Christian home at our abode he 

found ; 
It always tickled us young chaps to find the 

preacher there, 
And hear him say, ^^Amen, amen," if my Pa led 

in prayer. 



But my Pa was a bashful man who had not much 
to say. 

And when revival time came 'round 'twas hard 
for Pa to pray; 

Quite frequently the preacher urged on Pa to 
have mjore zeal. 

Said he, ^ ^ The more you work and pray, the hap- 
pier you feel." 

Well one time Pa and I went out to rake some 

new-mown hay — 
I never shall forget the fun I had with Pa that 

day; 
With fork in hand he tossed the grass, the new- 

mowli hay to make, 
While I, who knew the meadow well, came after 

with the rake. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 209 

And while we worked my pious Pa would to his 

hopeful say: 
*^My son, a lesson you may learn from raking 

new-mown hay''; 
Then he'd repeat that adage old, ^^The grass 

which in the morn 
Springs up and lives is soon cut down and of its 

beauty shorn." 
So Pa and I kept working on, with naught of food 

or drink. 
Till may be one or two o'clock, and I was forced 

to think 
'Twas very late for dinner time, when much to 

Pa's dismay 
Some yaller jackets claimed a right in that sweet- 
scented hay. 



Pa dropped his fork quite suddenly, and yelled 

and tore like mad. 
While I, too much afraid to speak, stood there 

and watched my dad; 
Well, next my Pa pulled off his vest and threw 

his pants away — 
None ever prayed with greater zeal than my Pa 

did that day; 



210 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

With one ear-splitting, awful yell, he started on 

the run. 
While I fell back upon the hay and laughed and 

laughed for fun, 
To see the time my Pa could make, and hear him 

shout and — ^well — 
The prayers my Pa used that day I never dared 

to tell 



If Pa had ever heard me say the words he used 

that day. 
My shoulders would have been too sore to rake 

the new-mown hay; 
But then it makes much difference if it be man 

or boy; 
The older ones are punished not for language 

they employ. 
Pa headed for the summer house and prayed with 

lively zest. 
That he might never find again a yaller jacket's 

nest; 
When Pa drew near our christian home, the man 

of God was there, 
And had the pleasure once to hear how Pa could 

lead in prayer. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 211 

The parson afterwards declared if Pa would 
show such zeal, 

During revival service, as when stung fromj head 
to heel. 

He'd he a winner in the work the devil's imps to 
down; 

And when the race of life was run he'd wear a 
starry crown; 

But I don't think that my Pa's prayers, ascend- 
ing on that day. 

Were such petitions as would help to bear men's 
sins away. 

His words were something strange to me— so in- 
nocent and young — 

I never heard such cuss-words come from any 
human tongue. 



But my Pa afterward declared, and I would fain 
believe. 

It was the only way on earth his feelings to re- 
lieve ; 

At all events don't blame my Pa — a christian 
man and true — 

You would have cussed as heartily had this be- 
fallen you. 



212 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

My Pa has long since fonnd that rest to weary 
mortals given, 

While I take comfort in the thought, *^No sting- 
ers enter heaven." 

But while I live on this old earth I shall recall the 
day, 

When Pa found yaller jackets in the lovely new- 
mown hay. 




St. Teter and the Broker 

VLHARITY covers a multitude of sins. It is 
often stated by those who pretend to know that 
the rich, as a general proposition, are unchari- 
table; but as this statement is usually made by 
those who are poor, it must be accepted with a 
great degree of allowance. So far as I am per- 
sonally concerned, not being rich, I have no opin- 
ion to offer. I remember when a boy, turning the 
grindstone for two long weary hours, for an old 
gentleman who had an abundance of this world's 
goods, and when I had finished he gave me a 
penny. That old man's generous act was indel- 
ibly impressed on my mind, and I never employ 
a boy to do anything for me that it does not re- 
call the liberal pay I received from him for the 
labor performed. This proposition will probably 
go undisputed, that the rich become wearied with 
the many calls which are made on their resources, 
and it has a tendency to close the avenues of gen- 
erosity and make them appear before the world 



214 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

as penurious individuals, when their natural in- 
clination is to be generous. While this mlay be 
true, it is also a fact that the donations for chari- 
table w'orks and benevolent institutions do not 
come from the immensely rich, but the enormous 
sums raised are generally contributions of those 
of whom it may be said, they have neither poverty 
nor riches. If charity covers a multitude of sins, 
from the way some people bestow their gifts, they 
view themselves as having few sins, or they are 
willing to let them remain uncovered. However, 
we have no right to judge, and we may well leave 
them in the hands of St. Peter, who will give them 
a fair examination before admitting themi to the 
eternal city. 



A wealthy old broker who met the sad fate 
Allotted to mortals, started up to the gate, 
And reaching the portal. Saint Peter espied, 
With the angel Gabriel close by his side. 
^'What is wanted,'' said Peter, ^^for surely you 

know 
No strangers in here are permitted to go, 
Unless they are able their acts to explain. 
And show that they spent not their riches in vain. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 215 

Unless they can prove they accomplished some 

good, 
It is one of the rules quite well understood, 
They never can walk on the bright, golden street 
With saints and with angels, unless they are mete 
To dwell with the ransomed, to share in the rest 
Vouchsafed to the ones the Eedeemer has blessed, 
To wear a white robe and with harp in their hand, 
Extol the great joys of the heavenly land." 

*^ 'Tis true,'' said the broker, quite pale and 

afraid, 
**That while upon earth ^filthy lucre' I made; 
But yet I was kind to the needy and poor. 
Nor sorrowing, turned them away from the door. 
I was kind to the widow in need and distress, 
I labored the orphan to succor and bless; 
And so, dear Saint Peter, your blessing bestow, 
Then permit me within the bright city to go." 

Said Peter, ^^My friend, in your plausible way, 
You make it as plain as the brightness of day. 
That you are an heir to this haven so bright. 
And that you should dwell in this city of light. 
I am sorry, dear sir, with the statement you give. 
To refuse you the chance in this city to live ; 
Some kind, friendly deeds I shall ask you to name 
Before you have fully established your claim. 



216 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

*^Well, Peter," the broker, with calmness replied, 
*^A boy badly frozen, would surely have died. 
His poor little life was exhausted and spent. 
When I went to my pocket and gave him a cent; 
And then a poor woman, with poverty pressed. 
By the gift of two nickels was aided and blessed; 
And then, my dear sir, as I mentioned before, 
I was kind to the beggar who begged at the door. ' ' 



Then Peter informed the good broker to wait, 
Before he could enter the beautiful gate; 
And turning to Gabriel, he calmly inquired. 
If the record was true and all they desired; 
Then Gabriel answered, ^^By the record we made. 
His statement is truthful, and yet I'm afraid 
This broker on earth scanty gifts did bestow, 
So give him his money and send him below. ' ' 




Jim Slick 

Jin every little hamlet, in every village, in every 
town, if you are in any measure blessed with ob- 
servant qualities, you will have discovered our 
friend, Jim Slick, and in all probability formed 
his acquaintance. He has doubtless entertained 
you with his anecdotes, enlightened you with his 
superior knowledge (I) and bored you with his 
opinions, until you would prefer to absent your- 
self from that particular locality rather than 
meet with this paragon of perfection, be com- 
pelled to listen to his illogical statements, and be 
annoyed by his vagaries. This same ^'01' Jim," 
though he never accumulated wealth, could tell 
every poor man how to grow rich. He could lay 
down an economic policy which would put the 
finest statesmen to the blush. He could formulate 
rules and regulations for the control of religious 
denominations which would put to shame the ef- 
forts of a Knox or a Wesley. He could devise and 
promulgate plans for the advancement and bet- 
terment of humanity superior to those which 
have emanated from the master minds of the 



218 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

present age. He could command an army with 
the same degree of success as did a Napoleon, a 
Wellington, a Washington or a Grant. His long 
suit is in giving advice on every conceivable sub- 
ject on which he is always deplorably ignorant, 
and which he never expects anyone to follow. 
You generally find our friend Jim seated on a 
box in front of a grocery, or other store, and al- 
ways so extremely busy that he has no time to 
work. How could he have leisure to work when 
in his estimation, the solving of the weighty prob- 
lems of the nation rests on his shoulders, his plain 
and arduous duty being to right the wrongs of 
his fellow men. Lazy, shiftless, talkative, igno- 
rant, conceited, addle-pated ^^OP Jim,'' he can 
be found everywhere and on the slightest provo- 
cation. 



Thar once was a f ello ' whose name was Jim Slick, 

Who spent all his moments in makin' a kick; 
or Jim was as slick as his surname implied, 

Fer he was born kickin' an' kicked when he 
died. 
He never would work^ but to kickin' he went. 

An' he kicked an' he kicked, till he hadn't a cent ; 
He swore that conditions were never half right, 

^n' so he kep' kickin' from! mornin' till night. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 219 

When the sun was a-shinin' throughout the blue 
sky, 

OP Jim would bewail with a cuss an' a sigh; 
It mattered but little what weather we got, 

Fer Jim it was either too cold or too hot; 
An' when it was cloudy an' sprinkled an' rained, 

From sowin' an' reapin' Jim Slick was de- 
tained ; 
It was either too dry or too wet fer 01' Jim, 

Fer no kind o' weather was suited to him. 



When work was a plenty an' wages were high, 

01' Jim alius kicked, an' would alius deny, 
That fer the poor people 'twas ever the best 

To hev so much work when they ought to hev 
rest. 
When labor was scarce an' no work to be had, 

or Jim alius seemed to be cheerful an' glad; 
He heaped on the wealthy all kinds o' abuse, 

An' said fer the times there was nary excuse. 



To talk on religion 01' Jim would begin, 
An' when he got started you'd think 'twas a' 
sin, 

The way all the preachers deserted ''the cause," 
An' broke all the precepts in God's-giveii laws, 



220 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

If politics ever by him were discussed, 

His kickin' an' cussin' would make you dis- 
trust, 

That every good man was a lastin' disgrace. 
An' Jim was the one to select fer the place. 



He discussed all the topics known under the sun, 

If by the least chance a debate was begun; 
He alius was 'round with a kick an' a cuss, 

Neglectin' his work to git mixed in the fuss. 
At length the time came when he gave up the 
ghost, 

An' this was the trouble which troubled him 
most : 
In heaven he longed to reside when he died, 

So in his last sickness he kicked an' he cried: 



*^I'm greatly afraid that I scarcely shall dare 

To do any kickin ', if I should go there ; 
Then as to the place which lies over the way, 

I know I shall kick, if I go there to stay. ' ' 
"So he died with his foot raised high in the air, 

All ready to kick, fer he sed ^4t wa'n't fair — 
'Twould be to his judgment a lasting disgrace. 

To keep him from kickin' in any sich place." 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 221 

I hev an idee, though you can't alius tell, 

01' Jim was too slick to be kickin' in hell; 
Yet I'll lay a wager o' twenty to seven. 

You never will find him kickin' in heaven. 
Where Jim Slick has gone I'm unable to say, 

But, in heaven or hell, he is kickin' away; 
When Gabriel blows, at the sound of his horn, 

or Jim will rise kickin' as when he was born. 

MORAL 

This tale lacks a moral to make it complete. 
An' 'tis this: ^^ Don't alius be usin' yer feet; 

Don't f oiler the maxims laid down by Jim Slick, 
An' spend all your moments in makin' a kick. 




A Gift Bestowed 



'ANY an ardent lover has made declarations 
to Ills sweetheart of the most extravagant char- 
acter, vowing in the most sacred fashion that he 
would go to the ends of the earth if thereby he 
could win her love; but has turned faint-hearted 
when requested to undertake the most common- 
place duty, or perform the easiest task. How- 
ever, it is not always an easy task to ask your 
prospective father-in-law for his consent to per- 
mit you to be engrafted in the family tree, and 
become a sort of side issue to the original stock. 
It is pleasant to be able to record that all young 
men do not receive the same treatment, nor have 
a like gift presented to them, as did this young 
lover when he sued for Elsie's hand. To the 
young man who is too bashful to ask the father 
of his lady love for her hand the following rem- 
edy is suggested. Swop girls and get one who 
has no father. In this way the difficulty will be 
obviated. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 223 

I said to Elsie, whom I loved: **Wliat would you 
have me do, 

To prove my truthfulness of heart, to test my 
love for you? 

Shall I, as in the days of old, with sword and 
buckler fight. 

And by my prowess demonstrate I am no carpet 
knight! 

Shall I, to find the Northern Pole, the Arctic seas 
explore 1 

Or stand with armies militant where surging bat- 
tles roar? 

Shall I on Afric's burning sands seek gems of 

wealth untold; 
Or on Alaska's frozen streams discover hidden 

gold? 



Dear Elsie, mention but the task that you would 

set for me — 
For you I'd scale the mountains high, or sail the 

raging sea. 
To know that I had won your love, had captured 

heart so coy. 

Would be sufficient recompense to fill my soul 
with joy.'' 



224 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Said Elsie to my pleading words, while mischief 
filled her eye, 

*^I care for no such sacrifice, nor fix the price so 
high. 

The task I set you may perform, nor quail at 
stern rebuff — 

Go ask my father, sir," she said, ^'that test will 
be enough/' 



I straightway to her father went, and sued for 
Elsie's hand; 

Then as prospective son-in-law awaited his com- 
mand; 

He quick refused her hand to m'e, with negative 
complete. 

But not to disappoint me quite he gave me both 
his feet. 

I thanked him for the double gift, as I passed 
through the door, 

But now I mourn in solitude, for I go there no 
more. 

I'd rather have one kindly hand stretched for- 
ward mine to meet. 

Than be presented suddenly with any man's two 
feet. 



The Parin* Bee 



JlT is difficult for those who have not been fa- 
vored with the opportunity to attend one of these 
gatherings, in any measure, to understand and 
appreciate the genuine, innocent amusement to 
be enjoyed at an old-fashioned, country **Parin' 
Bee." The huge pile of red-cheeked apples, 
whose dainty coloring is surpassed only by the 
rosy bloom seen in the cheeks of the farmers' 
lovely daughters ; the young men arrayed in their 
best; the old folk sedate in manner, but with ob- 
servant eyes living over again the pleasure of 
their younger days; the bashful one quietly re- 
tiring to some modest corner in harmony with 
his diffident nature; the merry hum of pleasant 
voices; the pleasantries and banter of jolly boys 
and girls; the rapid manipulation of the work — 
peeling, coring and stringing the apples to be 
dried for winter use — made easy by the many 
nimble fingers participating in the task; the 
plays, the dance, the lunch, the nicety of choice 
in pairing off after the "Bee'' is over — all make 
a delightful scene not easily forgotten by one who 
has participated in its pleasures. 



226 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

The times air not the same, my lad, 

IVe often told yeou so; 
They laugh neow at the fun we hed 

Some fifty years ago; 
An' yet the oP time ^^pealin' bee," 

It beats 'em all, I veow — 
Sich pleasant times yeou never see, 

I wish we hed 'em neow. 



The black eyes an' the blue, my lad, 

A winkin' sly at yeou. 
Would leave the fello's lookin' sad. 

Not knowin' what to deou. 
But every boy would try to bring 

The girl he liked the best. 
To sit by him to core an' string. 

An' banter — all in jest. 



We pared, an' cored, an' strung, my boy, 

An' jined in fun an' glee. 
While some their time would all employ 

In jolly lark an' spree; 
The boys an' girls an effort made, 

To act home-like an' free; 
An' in those days I'm sure it paid 

To hev a ^^pealin' bee." , 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 227 

Wlien all the work was done, my lad, 

The last string on the pole, 
In those oP days it was the fad. 

To bring in jelly roll, 
An' buns, an' meat, an' pies, an' cakes. 

An' drink called ^^ Honey Dew," 
Which, if yeou tuk too much, law sakes. 

It made a fule of yeou. 



An' so we ate an' drank, my boy. 

In pleasant days of yore. 
Filled up with cake, an' pie, an' joy, 

Till we could hold no more; 
At last the eatin' hour was past. 

The tables pushed aside, 
An' many feet were flyin' fast— 

His bow the fiddler plied. 



An' then those dear ol' plays, my boy- 

To kiss a pretty girl. 
It would yer sadness all destroy. 

An set yer brain awhirl. 
Oh, I have wished a theousand times. 

But wishin' is in vain. 
This fun which I describe in rhymes. 

Could be enjoyed again. 



228 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

An' thus we played an' danced, my boy, 

Into the midnight hour; 
Our hearts were free from base alloy, 

Mirth held us in its power; 
At last the time would roll areound 

When we must all depart, 
But to some pretty girl 'twas feound,^ 

Some fello' lost his heart. 



Neow when the **bee" broke up, my lad. 

The *' pair in' " jist began; 
A lovely girl each fello' hed. 

Each girl her own young man. 
An' thus paired off we went along, 

A jolly, happy band, 
Singin' through life a pleasant song, 

Travelin' hand in hand. 



When I recall those days, my boy. 

It thrills me through an' through, 
An' so I think of long past joy. 

An' tell it neow to yeou. 
I loved the dear ol' ^'Parin' Bee," 

It thrilled my heart, I veow. 
Those were delightful days to me, 

I wish we hed 'em neow. 



Gathering '^ome 

iJuHERE come to me stealing sweet thoughts of 
the past, 

The days of my youth I am prone to review ; 
I wish that this dream of my childhood would last, 

Recalling the loved ones my infancy knew. 
They pass through my mind like a flood of sweet 
light— 

This beautiful theme, 'tis the one of my choice, 
Though long weary years have taken their flight 

I see the dear faces and hear each sweet voice. 



My kindly old mother, best friend of my youth, 
E'en now I recall With what kindness and 
grace. 
She trained my young mind in the pathways of 
truth, 
While a smile that was heavenly lighted her 
face. 
No words can paint truly her last loving kiss. 
Its lingering fondness I ne'er shall forget — 
How oft it returns, bringing sadness with bliss — 
It burned on my lips, it is burning there yet. 



230 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

Oh, how well I can picture my father's loved face, 

His half-hidden smile, even now I behold; 
While the maxims he gave us, with old-fashioned 
grace. 

Were pictures of silver with apples of gold. 
It was more than a pleasure to hear his kind 
voice. 

Sedately we hearkened to all that he said; 
And now that I follow his teachings from choice, 

I'm thankful that I by his precepts was led. 

The dear ones at home I behold as of yore ; 

Around the old hearth in the fast-fading light. 
We gathered there, where we shall gather no 
more. 

And told pleasing stories far into the night. 
But now we are scattered in far distant lands, 

The scenes of our childhood are called up in 
vain ; 
Oh, affections are weaker, and severed the bands, 

We shall meet upon earth, no never again. 

A hope comes to me in this day dream of mine. 
That no matter where, or how far we may 
roam. 

Some kind loving spirit at last will incline 
Our wandering footsteps to seek a new home. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 231 

Not a home where meetings and partings prevail, 
Where the heart with pain and sorrow is riven, 

A home which grim death cannot mar nor assail, 
Where we shall dwell with our loved ones in 
heaven. 




The Lassie for Me 

Uprightly Edith Marie is the lassie for me, 

I cannot recount all her charms ; 
She speaks to me rarely, treats me unfairly, but 

her sweet smile my anger disarms; 
I'm heart broken nearly, I love her so dearly, her 

sweetness and charms all combine 
To make me feel dazy, I almost am crazy, I vow 

this sweet girl shall be mine. 
She often may cozen sweethearts by the dozen, 

she may be a Witching coquet; 
She does it to tease me, tries to displease me, but 

I hope she will marry me yet. 

Oh, this dear little girl sets my head in a whirl, 

her fickleness often alarms; 
I long to caress her, I love her, God bless her, 

she may rest from care in my arms. 
Her silence oppresses, her shyness distresses, she 

has other lovers, I fear, 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 233 

I'm bashful when near her, I constantly fear her, 

I intimate this is Leap Year ; 
My heart aches with love's throes, I want her to 

propose, her way will be charming, I know; 
Then with light in my eye, I shall eagerly cry: 

^^My darling, you startle me so!" 



I shall quickly grow bold, tell the story of old, 
vow to be kindly and true; 

If you on me rely, the whole world I'll defy; I 
shall be life's protector to you. 

Nay, think not to tarry, we quickly shall marry, 
true lovers we always shall be; 

I no longer am coy, for it fills me with joy, be- 
cause you proposed unto me. 

We will always be true, our courtship renew, 
when the day you proposed draweth near; 

Vowing never to part, close united in heart, play 
marriage each coming Leap Year. 



Tiosalinda 

j| AM watching from the window as the sunset 
Paints the western sky and clouds a ruddy hue; 
"While I gaze upon the beauties of the picture, 
I'm thinking, Rosalinda, of the happy days we 

knew. 
I recall the pleasant moments, long departed. 
How we strolled beneath the maples, to and fro, 
How the story of our love was oft repeated. 
How your rosy cheeks with blushes were aglow. 



Often, I recall, in the quiet of the twilight. 
Our promises were given to be leal and true; 
Now as the shades of darkness creep around me, 
I'm thinking, Rosalinda, of the happy days we 
knew. 

I am wondering if the past brings secret sorrow, 
If those long departed days you oft recall; 
And as I think of other days I often fancy. 
We, together, drink the wormwood and the gall. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 235 

Darkness lias appeared and blotted out the pic- 
ture, 

Teardrops trickle down, as falls the evening dew; 

While with deep regrets my mind is often 
crowded, 

I'm thinking, Rosalinda, of the happy days we 
knew. 

Have those happy, youthful moments been for- 
gotten? 

Has that loving picture faded from your mind! 

Has the love you once professed for me departed? 

Is there not left one lingering spark behind? 



Fleeting years have intervened since last we 

parted, 
Tim.e has blotted out love's picture from our 

view ; 
But yet, as there lingers now a ray of sunlight, 
I'm thinking, Rosalinda, of the happy days we 

knew. 
Could I walk again beneath the spreading maples 
And behold your cheeks with blushes all aglow. 
As I whispered in your ear the tale of true love — 
That would be a limning of a heaven below, 



baseball Excuses 

ClliHAT will become of you and me, what loss 
will we sustain, 

When all our relatives depart to come not back 
again ? 

What awful agony is ours, what sleepless nights 
are spent, 

When we have no material baseball lies to invent? 

For the greatest of all sorrows which can come 
to man or boy, 

Is when he cannot find excuse a ball game to en- 
joy; 

W^hen he tries to tell a ^^ whopper'' with malevo- 
lent intent. 

Knowing well his hurried footsteps to the base- 
ball game are bent. 



He glances up and glances down, nor meets your 

steadfast eye. 
While he hunts for raw material to compose a 

dog-goned lie; 
He knows full well and you know, too, his story 

can't be true^ 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 237 

But when the national game is on what can a fel- 
low do? 

One buys a team and needs must go to put them 
to the test, 

The man of God, with solemn mein, must lay the 
dead to rest; 

The business man must hasten to close up a bar- 
gain rare. 

But when you saunter to the grounds, you'll find 
each fellow there. 



And then the better half of man, constructed from 
a rib. 

Without any hesitation will tell a corking fib: 

*'A very dear acquaintance, an old college chum 
of mine. 

Will stop to gossip with me as she passes down 
the line. 

So I must be at the station to bestow a welcome 
bright, 

I will see you somewhat later — is my hat adjust- 
ed right r' 

If you have a date to meet her, don't be restless 
or afraid, 

You will find her on the bleachers, most attract- 
ively arrayed. 



238 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

The physician has a patient, and the lawyer has 

a case, 
But leisurely they hasten to the same old trysting 

place ; 
You will see them on the benches, crying out till 

they are hoarse, 
When some one knocks the ball afield with -^more 

than common force; 
But when the game is over, we're disposed to 

run and hide. 
Ashamed to face the folk at home, who know that 

we have lied. 
'Tis the same the country over, till the righteous 

are dismayed 
At the lies which are invented when the nation's 

game is played. 




Without a Cook 

vKKhAT is home without a mother? 

Oft we asked in days of yore, 
And true love our hearts controlling, 

Placed that motto o'er the door. 
Now the burning question presses, 

Found in gossip and in book: 
What more need we now to bless us? 

What is home without a cook? 

She who holds the situation, 
Kules the household — early, late. 
Knows her power, and if offended, 
Dooms us to a hungry fate. 

Unless to assert our manhood, 
Conquered are we by a look; 

Forced to cry in direst anguish, 
What is home without a cook? 

**What is home without a mother?" 

Turn this motto to the wall, 
Place another o'er the mantle. 

E'en tho' tears in silence fall. 
To the kitchen queen pay homage — 

Mother and her realm forsook — - 
We must starve or bow before her. 

What is home without a cook? 



SI Christmas Gift 



uXKhAT will 'oo div to me, Mamma, 

'Iss tummin 'Trismas time? 
A book 'ith pitty pitchers in. 

An' filled ith funny rhyme? 
A dolly, too, 'ith flaxen hair, 

'At rolls an' winks its eyes, 
An' when me stweezes on its breast. 

It moves its mouf an' tries. 

'Tanse bndder says at sister's house 

'Ey have a 'ittle doll, 
'At looks 'ike one me had las' year, 

An' dis' about as tall; 
But 'en he says her doll's alive, 

An' eats, an' sleeps, an' drows. 
An' when awake it rolls its eyes, 

An' moves its 'ittle toes. 

Did 'oo buy sister's doll. Mamma, 

Or did the doctor send 
An' borrow one from baby-land, 

Where 'ey have dolls to lend? 
'Tause if he did, please speak to him. 

An' have him send or write 
An' det a doll 'ike sister has. 

To div' me Trismas night. 



bright and Fair 

l^OW bright and fair our boyhood days! 

Our minds with pleasure turn 
To rambling o'er the flowery braes, 

And through the flowing burn. 
Our thoughts turn backward and it seems 

Those joys once more we feel; 
We limp again, when wrapped in dreams, 

With stone-bruise on our heel. 

Yes, bright and fair those golden hours. 

Few clouds to intervene; 
Our sorrows, short sunshiney showers 

With rainbow tints between; 
Our boyhood days, a pleasant song 

We would not well forego; 
Our greatest pain, nor lasting long, 

Was when we ^'stubbed'' a toe. 

Yes, bright and fair tells well the tale 

Of happy days long gone; 
Yet every boy knows well the wail 

Which at the early dawn 



242 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Came ringing from the old woodshed, 
As o'er his father's knee, 

He was in wisdom's pathway led — 
Sweet, by-gone memory. 



Yes, bright and fair, those days return, - 

No clouds their brightness blur; 
Through all life's care and grave concern. 

Their joys our memories stir. 
Those pleasant days, no care to wrack. 

We sauntered oif to school. 
Where oft upon our youthful back 

The master plied the *^rule. 



>? 



Yes, bright and fair! How short the time 

Since we were restive boys. 
And how we longed, with faith sublime, 

To share in manhood's joys. 
Compelled man's burden once to bear, 

Our pains and griefs begun. 
Then disappeared our boyhood's care. 

As mist before the sun. 



Signs of Spring 

/^N old, gray- whiskered gentleman 

Sat at his desk one day; 
His thoughts in divers channels ran, 

Along life's varied way. 
He pondered o'er the checkered past. 

He smiled at grief and care; 
And troubles, which his sky o'ercast, 

To him| were light as air. 

For many a long eventful year, 

He ran ^^The Bugle Call,'' 
And watched through winters, cold and drear, 

His business rise and fall. 
He claimed the wolf of fabled fame. 

Which oft stood at the door. 
Would quit the place when spring time came. 

And haunt the house no more. 

And so the years had passed away. 

Like visions of the night. 
Which vanish with the dawning day. 

As dusk before the light. 



244 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

And now the old man sleeps and dreams 

Of other lands than ours; 
He views a place which, to him, seems, 

To bloom with vernal flowers. 



The blooming orchards and the trees, 

Where robin red-breasts sing. 
The perfume wafted by the breeze, 

Denote the coming spring. 
As on he dreams, his mind is filled 

With scenes surpassing fair, 
But though with verdant beauties thrilled, 

A doubt still lingers there. 

But soon soft strains he faintly hears, 

And listening to the sound. 
His heart the low, soft music cheers. 

While fairies hover 'round. 
Each carries 'neath its silvery wing. 

As though to hide from view, 
*^ Sweet poems'' on the opening spring. 

Tied up with ribbons blue. 

And now the old man, sleeping, gazed. 
With smiles and mild surprise; 

His head in listening poise is raised. 
Doubt in assurance dies. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 



245 



The ^^ poems," for a while, he eyed, 
'Twixt joy and passing fear. 

Then throwing up his hands, he cried 
**My God, the spring is here.'' 



Mein Garten Queen 

Jl lof do vatch dot budding drees, 

I lof dot leedle vlowers; 
I lof do see dot basdures green, 

Refreshed py vailing showers; 
But dot vich makes mein heart pe glad, 

Und pids mein lof avake, 
Iss Katrine in dot early morn. 

At vork mit hoe und rake. 

She has no dime for raising vlowers. 

Nor lof for useless veeds; 
She is in sbring dime okkubied 

In blanding garten seeds. 
Her unnions, beets und ratishes, 

Mit ledduses und korn, 
Are blaced in leedle blots off grount 

Py Katrine in de morn. 

She vorks und mit dose batience vaits. 
Dose sun schine und dose rain; 

She knows py seasons off der bast. 
Her vork is not in vain. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 247 

She knows dose actif scherm off life, 

Nurtured py mutter earth, 
Shall veel dose vivifying forse, 

Und do a blant give pirth. 

Each veed vot lifds its useless head, 

Katrina cuds id down, 
Und shoo-os dot schickens righd avay, 

Mit scarce a bassing vrown. 
Dot vorms und grups on blands und tings, 

Vos quickly pud do roud 

Vor Katrine vants dot cap-pa-ges 

Do make dose sauer-kraut. 

So ven I sees dose frau off mein, 

At vork mit hoe und rake, 
I goes avay und laughs meinseluf, 

Undil mein sites vill schake. 
I dinks off all dot goot tings sdored, 

Ven summer meeds mit death; 
Off durnips, korn und cap-pa-ges, 

Und unnions for de preath. 

Und ven dot virst vruits off her vork 

Iss on dose dable sbread. 
All vet mit sbarkling drobs off dew, 

Vresh from dose garten ped. 



248 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

I dinks me nod off plooming vlowers, 
Bud off mein frau Katrine; 

Und as I ead I schmile und say: 
^^You vos mein Garten Queen." 




'*Vink und §chm//e'* 

Jl vos a gommon Sclierman manns, 

Who knows me nod de vays 
Off all de curious beebles vot 

I meeds me every tays; 
Und so ven vellows dalk do me, 

I always dink a vile; 
Und den I dry to look me vise, 

Und vink mein eye und schmile. 

A vellow ladely gomes do me, 

Und says, ^^Now, Hans, look here, 
Vot makes dose Dutch ead Limburger, 

Und trink dot lager peerT' 
Bud I don'd answer him so quick, 

I dinks me all de vile; 
Und den I looks vise-like at him, 

Und vink mein eye und schmile. 

Und den von oder vellow says, 
^^Dot schbring iss awvul lade, 

Hans, do you dink dot for de vork 
Dot grop vill gombensadef'^ 



250 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

But I schoost drive mein deam along, 

Und study all de vile; 
I have no dings do say do him— 

I vink mein eye und schmile. 

A vellow says do me von tay, 

**Hans, lent me vifty, gash;^' 
I vaits a leedle vile bevore 

I makes dot bromise, rash ; 
I hates me do refuse a frient, 

Bud yed I dink a vile, 
Und den I look ad him so nize, 

Und vink mein eye und schmile. 

Und den dare gomes a man do me, 

Do sell a patend schurn; 
Und dells me if I use dot ting, 

I vill mein leevin earn; 
Bud I haf meed dose men bevore, 

Und sol dinks a vile ; 
Und den I schake mein head ad him, 

Und vink mein eye und schmile. 

Mein frau she gomes do me and puds 
Her arm arount mein neck, 

Und visbers in mein ear und says, 
^^Pear Hans, I vant a scheck;'' 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 251 

Bud sclioost bevore I make id oud, 

I dink a leedle vile; 
Und den I say, *^How mooch, mein tear," 

Und vink mein eye und sclimile. 

Und schoost de oder day mein son — 

Got pless mein leedle poy — 
He gomes do me und says, ^^Papa, 

Puy me a briddy doy.'^ 
I dake him on mein knee und den 

I sdop do dink a vile ; 
He looks so schweed I say, ^^Alrighd," 

Den vink mein eye und schmile. 

Und den dot leedle girl off mein — 

Oh, Got in himmel pless — 
She gomes und schweedly says do me, 

^^I vant a lofely dress. '* 
I vint her gurls arount mein hand. 

Dink schoost a leedle vile, 
Und say, ^^Off gourse, mein leedle tear,'' 

Und vink mein eye und schmile. 

I goes me vare de gratle stands, 

Und look me ad de eyes 
Of dot schweed, leedle babe off mein. 

Who vakes quick oop und gries; 



252 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

Und ven I hear dot feeble voice, 

I vait und dink a vile; 
Und den I stlioop und kiss dot schild, 

Und vink mein eye und schmile. 



Some tay I vill pe gedding olt, 

Und veel de veighd off years; 
Bud I shall dry do pe gondent, 

Vich lighdens griefs und fears; 
If drooble gomes mit bassing years 

I dinks me for a vile, 
Und den I say, *^Got knows de pest,^' 

Und vink mein eye und schmile. 




Cuddle Doon 

^HE bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, 
Wi' muckle faucht an^ din; 

try an' sleep, ye waukrife rogues, 
Your faither's comin* in. 

They never heed a word I speak, 

I try to gie a froon, 
But aye I hap them up an' cry, 

^^0 bairnies, cuddle doon/' 

Wee Jamie wi the curly heid — 
He aye sleeps next the wa' — 

Bangs up an' cries, ^^I want a piece "- 
The rascal starts them a'. 

1 rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks, 
Which stops a wee the soun' — 

I draw the blankets up an' cry, 
^'Noo, weanies, cuddle doon." 

But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab, 
Cries oot frae 'neath the claes, 

Mither, mak' Tam gie owre at ance, 
^^He's kittlin' wi' his taes." 



254 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

The mischief's in that Tarn for tricks, 
He'd bother half the toon; 

But aye I hap them up an' cry, 
*^0, bairnies, cuddle doon." 



At length they hear their faither's fit. 

An' as he steeks the door. 
They turn their faces to the wa'. 

While Tam pretends to snore. 
^^Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks, 

As he pits aff his shoon, 
The bairnies, John, are in their beds. 

An' lang since cuddled doon. 



An' just afore we bed oursel's, 

We look at oor wee lambs ; 
Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck. 

An' Rab his airm roun' Tam's. 
I lift wee Jamie up the bed. 

An' as I straik each croon, 
I whisper, as my heart fills up, 

^^0, bairnies, cuddle doon." 

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, 

Wi' mirth that's dear to me. 
But sune the big warl's cark an' care. 

Will quaten doon their glee. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 255 

Yet come what will to ilka ane, 

May he who sits aboon, 
Aye whisper, though their pows be bald, 



**0, bairnies, cuddle doon.'' 



-ALEX ANDERSON. 




The Last to Cuddle Doon 

JJ SIT afore a half-oot fire. 

An' I am a' my lane; 
Nae frien' or f rem it dauners in, 

For a' my folk are gane; 
An' John that was my ain gude man. 

He sleeps the mools amang — 
An' anld frail body like mysel' — 

It's time that I should gang. 

The win' moans ronn' the auld hoose en', 

An' shakes the ae fur tree; 
An' as it sughs it waukens up 

Auld things fu' dear to me. 
If I could only greet, my heart, 

It wadna be sae sair; 
But tears are gane, an' bairns are gane, 

An' baith come back nae mair. 

Ay, Tam, puir Tam, sae fu' o' fun, 

He foun' this warl' a fecht; 
An' sair, sair he was hadden doon, 

Wi' mony a weary wecht. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 257 

He bore it a' until the en', 

But when we laid him doon, 
The gray hairs, there afore their time, 
Were thick amsang the broon. 

An' Jamie, wi' the curly heid, 

Sae buirdly, big an' braw, 
Was cut doon in the pride o' youth, 

The first amang them a'. 
If I had tears for thae auld een. 

Then could I greet fu' weel. 
To think o' Jamie lyin' deid, 

Aneath the engine wheel. 

Wee Eab, what can I say o' him! 

He's waur than deid to me; 
Nae word frae him the weary years 

lias cam across the seal 
Could I but ken that he was weel. 

As here I sit this nicht. 
This warl' wi' a' its f audit an' care 

Wad look a wee bit bricht. 

I sit afore a half-oot fire. 

An' I am a' my lane; 
Nae frien' hae I to dauner in. 

For a' my fowk are gane. 



258 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

I wuss that lie who rules us a', 
Frae where he dwells aboon, 

Wad touch my auld gray held, an' say, 
**It's time to cuddle doon.'' 

-ALEX ANDERSON. 






Tiab's 'Return 

AluHOUGH I am auld an' near the en', 

An' dauner here my lane, 
I wnss that thae auld een o' mine 

Could see wee Rab again. 
He's a' the bairn amang the three, 

That's left on airth to me; 

I wuss he wad come hame ance mair, 

Frae far across the sea. 

Today, in wand'rin' roun' the hoose, 

I foun' a wee bit shoon 
Which was puir Tam's, when as a bairn, 

He, greetin' toddled roun'. 
Thae little duds are dear to me, 

Sin' I a' my lane. 
For Tam, dear lad, has passed awa', 

Amang the mools has gane. 

An' as I turn, there meets my een 

Puir Jamie's bat an' ba'; 
I lo'e them weel, an' canna bear 

To pit thae toys awa'. 



260 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

All me, it pains my auld, gray heid, 
An' gars my een to greet, 

That Tam an' Jamie baith are deid, 
An' Eab nae mair I'll meet. 



Then some strange body steeked the door, 

A lad wi' beard fu' braw; 
An' as I looked, it seemed to me, 

My ain wee Rab I saw. 
An' then my heart gaed wi' a boun' 

To him across the sea. 
An' elaispit in his airms, I knew, 

He had come hame to me. 

I sit afore a weel-built fire, 

Wi' wee Rab standin' near; 
He hands my puir auld, tremblin' ban'. 

An' ca's me mither, dear; 
An' sae though I am grawin' auld, 

I'm sittin' here thae nicht. 
An' when I look at Rab the warl' 

Becomes a wee bit bricht. 

Wee Rab is a' that's left to me. 
Which pains my hairt fu' sair; 

But sune I'll meet wi' a' my frien's, 
Sae I shall greet nae mair. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 261 

My days are drawin' to an en', 

Soon I'll be ca'ed aboon, 
An' wee Rab gently close my een, 

When I shall cuddle doon. 




The '^ame Comin ' 

Ji'm far awa' frae frien's an' hame, 

My liairt is sad an' sair; 
An' though I'm hamesick for them a 

I shall go back nae mair. 
It wadna be the same to me, 

As when I cam' awa', 
Yet when I think o' thae anld times, 

The bitter tears doonfa'. 

My mither an' my faither gane 

To dwall wi' sannts aboon; 
My sisters an' my brithers, too, 

Wide scaittered far aronn'. 
To roam aboot the dear auld place, 

Whence a' my fowk hae gane. 
An' see each weel remembered spot. 

Would fill my hairt wi' pain. 

I see the auld hoose, an' I ken. 
The places whaur we played; 

I hear the streamlet murmurin' by, 
Doon which we aften strayed. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 263 

I min' me o' the go wans sweet, 

The flowers by the stream, — 
Thae childish pleasures a' come back 

To me as in a dream. 



The ringin' o' the auld kirk bell. 

Strikes on my listenin' ear — 
E'en noo I tak' her by the han', 

My kin' auld mither, dear; 
I walk wi' her to God's ain hoose. 

An' as we steek the door, 
I hear the tune '^ Auld Hundred" sang. 

As aft I heard before. 

I hear the stern auld meenister, 

An' aye he makes me feel, 
That, tho' a child, I'm born in sin, 

A servan' o' the de'il. 
Wi' his damnation an' his hell, 

I'm frightit till I greet, 
For, if I'm nae electit, then. 

No frien's aboon I'll meet. 

I see my faither when he stairts 
To make his pairish roun'; 

An' when he gi'es his stern commands, 
I'm fearfu' at the soun'; 



264 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

But when he takes me in his airms, 
An' haiilds me to his breast, 

I know he lo'es me an' I find 
In him a trustfu' rest. 



My brither Jock, sae buird an ' braw, 

I see him noo as weel 
As in my lang syne childish days ; 

An' aften times I feel 
I'd gie my fondest, dearest hopes 

0' fame, or gear, or Ian', 
If I could hae fun-lovin' Jock 

To grip me by the han'. 

An' then my brither Will, I see, 

Sae fu' o' quiet fun; 
Hoo aften I was wheepit, sair. 

For mischief he had done. 
An' yet thae dim, auld een o' mine 

Wad kindle wi' delicht, 
If he were standin' by my side, 

To cheer my hairt thae nicht. 

An' standin' roun' the ingle wide, 
Four sisters come to min'; 

I hear their laughter as it rang 
In days o' auld lang syne. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 265 

0, mair than happy, blithesome days, 

Devoid o' cark an' care; 
We spent them a' in mirth an' fun, 

Which we shall hae nae mair. 



For I am far frae frien's an' hame, 

An' a' fowk dear to me; 
Some dwall aboon an' some are gane 

To lan's across the sea. 
But he who haulds us in his ban's 

Will lead us to OHimsel'; 
An' guide each feeble, errin' chieP 

In Paradise to dwell. 




The Sultana Disaster 



In the spring of 1865, in the month of April, and 
on the 27th day of the month, after Johnson ^s men 
had lain down their arms, and the remnant of 
Lee's once magnificent army had surrendered; 
after Abraham Lincoln, the savior of his country, 
the greatest, and at the same time, the humblest 
of all the great actors in that war's terrible 
dramxa, had been assassinated; when the whole 
country, north, south, east and west, was re- 
sounding to the m^easured tread of home-coming 
martial hosts ; when the light of the glorious morn 
of peace had driven away the gloom, hardship, 
suffering, bloodshed and death of an awful but 
sublime struggle; when the watchman on the hill 
top, in answer to the question, ^^What of the 
night r' proclaimed, with and exuberance of joy 
which was wafted on the breeze, over the hills, and 
through the valleys, and across the plains, that 
the angel of peace had spread her white wings 
over the contending hosts, and that wars and ru- 
mors of wars at last were ended ; when the pulse- 
beat of the nation was one united throb of joy — 
then the doors of southern prison pens were 
thrown open, and thousands of wounded, half- 
starved, emaciated, pitiable creatures, once strong, 
healthy men, were liberated from the death ken- 
nels of the South. 

It became the duty of the Federal Government 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 267 

to provide ample means for the transportation 
of these paroled prisoners to their northern 
homes, and Maj. Gen. N. J. T. Dana, U. S. Army, 
commanding department of Mississippi, whose 
headquarters were at Vicksburg, Va., placed Capt. 
Geo. A. Williams, First U. S. Infantry, in charge 
of the duties pertaining to an assistant commis- 
sioner of exchange to transact business with the 
rebel agents then in charge of federal prisoners 
of war. At first the rebel commissioners refused 
to turn over any prisoners unless they received 
an equivalent of Confederate men held by the 
North. After some delay, and considerable nego- 
tiation, an arrangement was finally effected, 
whereby the rebel commissioner. Colonel Ould, 
agreed to parole Northern men. In the absence 
of Captain Williams, who about this time was 
called North, Capt. Frederic Speed was assigned 
to the duty of preparing the rolls, and shipping 
these men North as rapidly as possible, the inten- 
tion being to send about one thousand (1,000) men 
at a load as the regular packets passed north- 
ward. It appears that some difficulty arose be- 
tween Captain Speed and Kerns, quartermaster 
of transportation, the former accusing the latter 
of trying to delay the shipment of these poor fel- 
lows on certain boats because they did not belong 
to the packet line which had the government con- 
tract, and that the contract line was offering a 
pecuniary consideration per capita for the men to 
be held for their boats, and Captain Speed claimed 
that the quartermaster was implicated in the 
scheme. At this time^ Captain Williams returned^ 



268 TJioughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

and after a consultation between Speed and Wil- 
liams, it was determined to send the balance of 
the men on the boat, Sultana. About midday, 
while the shipment was being made. Captain Wil- 
liams came to General Dana and preferred the 
same charge against Speed which Speed had made 
against Kerns, but after investigation, Captain 
Williams admitted that his charges were without 
foundation, and fully exonerated Captain Speed. 
These preliminary facts are given to show that 
there was considerable trouble over the shipment 
of these men. The general suspicion seemed to 
exist that bribery was being used, each party ac- 
cusing the other, without proof to sustain the accu- 
sations. It may further be stated that some of the 
officers remonstrated against placing so many men 
on this boat, but it seemed to be the impression 
among those having charge of the affair, that the 
paroled troops, having suffered so long together 
in rebel prisons, were particularly anxious to go 
home together in the same boat, but even this re- 
port was without foundation. At all events the 
boat was overloaded, either through mistake in 
not knowing the exact number of men, as no rolls 
had been prepared, or by design on account of the 
accusations that bribes had been offered to cer- 
tain persons, superintending the shipment, by par- 
ties interested in other boats. It may also be 
stated that all the parties belonging to the boat 
who could be, in any way, held responsible for the 
disaster which followed the shipment of over 2,000 
people on one boat, lost their lives at the time of 
the explosion, or died within a month after it oc- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 269 

curred. The fact, however, remains that 1866 
paroled troops and 155 civilians were given pas- 
sage on the old river boat, Sultana, most of whom 
were men whose hearts beat high with anticipa- 
tion of reaching the North, and meeting once more 
the dear ones from whom they had parted when 
they bade farewell to peaceful vocations and went 
away to engage in internecine strife. 

Crowded to the very rails with creatures whom 
starvation, disappointment and suffering worse 
than death, would have rendered too feeble to 
stand the journey, only that hope buoyed up their 
souls, the old Sultana swung slowly out from the 
Vicksburg wharf, not, as they supposed, to carry 
them to their kindred and friends, but to bear 
them forward to destruction and death. The old 
Sultana pushed slowly up the river, carrying its 
load of human freight nearer, and ever nearer, its 
destination, and finally reached Memphis, Tenn., 
in safety. 

The moon, as though having a presentiment of 
their approaching fate, hid its silvery rays behind 
a cloud, and the twinkling stars closed their shin- 
ing eyes to shut out the horror of it all. As the 
old boat crawled slowly along during this part of 
the journey, the hundreds who thronged the decks, 
sought rest or recreation as led by their fitful fan- 
cies. Here, a group of men, with hearts filled to 
overflowing with joy, were pouring forth their 
gladness in patriotic song. There, another group 
listened with bated breath to the story of one of 
their number, as he told of narrow escape or brave 
adventure. Over in this direction, a few com- 



270 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

rades were gathered around one who, from hard- 
ship and sickness, was unable to bear the journey, 
and was battling with his last powerful enemy 
before he passed into the great unknown; and as 
these men, who had faced death in almost every 
guise, dropped a tear for their dying comrade, 
they little knew that the grim monster was lurking 
near, and that soon some of them would bq grap- 
pling with this implacable foe. Over in another 
direction, men who had but lately been liberated 
from prison, were hearing for the first time the 
story of Lincoln's death. In the prow, some 
silently stood, peering into the darkness of night, 
as though to catch a glimpse of their once happy 
homes. Yet another group, with their blankets 
wrapped around them, reposed in slumber, and 
dreamed of the merry prattle of children's voices, 
and the gladsome welcome of a faithful, loving 
wife who awaited their home-coming with long de- 
ferred hope; and so the Sultana steamed slowly 
forward until she reached a group of Islands 
known as ^^ Paddy's hen and chickens," a few 
miles above Memphis. 

As nearly as can now be recalled, at between 
three and four o'clock in the morning, when the 
singing had ceased, when the story teller's voice 
was stilled, when the animated talk on the Presi- 
dent's death was hushed, when the darkness of 
night hung over the waters like a cloud, when the 
spirit of the dying comrade had broken the bonds 
of mortality and was winging its way to eternity's 
shore — ^without the slightest warning, without any 
premonition of danger, there came a crash like 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 271 

the breaking up of the foundations of the earth, 
and yells, and cries, and groans, and shrieks, and 
prayers such as might emanate from the spirits 
of the lost, and the boat Sultana which only a few 
moments before had been gliding smoothly along 
on the turbid waters of the Mississippi, was blown 
to pieces and more than 2,000 souls were either 
launched into eternity or frightened, and bruised, 
and mangled and torn, were struggling against 
the elements to save themselves from a watery 
grave. Indescribable catastrophe! Appalling 
disaster ! No eye-witness can portray its horrors, 
no pen describe the awful scene. The dead and 
dying floating side by side; the ghastly faces of 
dead men with staring eyes; the detached 
limbs of slaughtered victims ; the scalded remains 
of what were once human beings; bodies burned 
and blackened beyond recognition; drowning men 
catching at drift-wood as it swirled past; the des- 
perate struggles of those unhurt; the floating de- 
bris scattered everywhere; the pitiable cries for 
aid; the heart-rending shouts for assistance, min- 
gled with the groans and prayers and expiring 
cries and demoniac yells of those driven tempor- 
arily insane through fright — all went to make a 
sickening, awful scene, the horrors of which ap- 
palled the world, and presented a picture which 
no painter's brush can produce, no writer's pen 
portray. 

According to the report made at the time by 
W. Huffman, Bvt. Brigadier General U. S. Army, 
there were 1,866 troops on board, including 33 pa- 
roled officers, 1 officer resigned, and the captain 



272 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

in charge of the guard. Of these, 765, including 
16 officers were saved, and 1,101, including 19 offi- 
cers, were lost. There were 70 cabin passengers 
and 85 crew hands on board, of whom 18 were 
saved, giving a loss of 137, making the total loss 
1,238, more lives than are lost in some battles 
of modern times and nearly double the number 
who perished in the Iroquois Theater in the city 
of Chicago. 

As this terrible occurrence took place almost 
immediately after peace had been declared, it was 
asserted, at the time, that some person of fiendish 
disposition succeeded in secreting a powerful ex- 
plosive in the coal, whence it found its way into 
the firebox, causing the explosion which resulted 
so fatally; but time has worn away the intense 
animosities between North and South, and now it 
is conceded by those who recall the circumstance, 
that it was not perpetrated by human hand, but 
was one of those mysterious events, fraught with 
destruction and death, which will never be satis- 
factorily explained, until the secrets of all hearts 
are laid bare, and the intentions of the finite mind 
are read as an open book. 

In the early morning, as the gray of the vanish- 
ing twilight relinquished its transitory sway, and 
abdicated in favor of the king of light such a sight 
was presented to his first shooting rays as they 
shimmered over the waters as never before, under 
similar conditions, met the brightness of an April 
sun. A short time after the fateful explosion, 
various boats were manned by brave, humane men 
who did everything in their power to save those 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 273 

wlio had not been instantly killed. Survivors 
were picked up everywhere in the vicinity, the res- 
cued were as well cared for as possible, the in- 
jured received medical attendance, and all par- 
ties saved from the wreck were given whisky, cof- 
fee, meat and bread, and every available means 
were used to care for those who found themselves 
in a condition which beggars description. As the 
statement was made at the time, that no one at the 
fort offered to do anything for the sufferers ex- 
cept the watchmen of the coal barges, it is here 
stated on the most reliable authority, that such 
statements were entirely without foundation. 
Many of the rescued were seriously injured by 
scalding and contusions, and all were shivering 
with cold; but blazing fires were built, stimulants 
were administered, blankets procured from the 
general hospital, the more seriously wounded 
were removed to the hospital of the Third U. S. 
Colored Artillery, and were treated in the most 
careful and friendly manner, every one being 
deeply interested in the pitiable condition of these 
unfortunate men, and every exertion being put 
forth to make them comfortable. 

The waters of the Mississippi were at high tide, 
and along the Arkansas shore were overflowing 
the land, and some of those who escaped death 
in an almost miraculous manner, were rescued 
during the day, from trees which they had climbed 
and to whose branches they had clung for safety. 
One survivor who was found in the spreading 
branches of a tree, always declared he had no 
recollection of the terrific event till he found him- 



274 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

self, wet and benumbed with cold, clinging to the 
limbs of a tree, when only a few moments before 
he was on board the Sultana. One poor fellow 
who was scalded till the flesh was hanging from 
his bones, with wonderful endurance, and in- 
domitable will power, swam to one of the wharf 
boats — a poor par-boiled, suffering piece of hu- 
manity. 

Numerous instances could be given of the es- 
cape of different individuals, and of the remark- 
able fortitude displayed by various persons who 
were saved from the watery elements. Some very 
touching instances could also be given of acts of 
bravery performed, in trying to assist others, by 
those whose own lives were in the most imminent 
peril. While this is true, it is reluctantly stated 
that several of the crew of the Sultana were panic- 
stricken, and conducted themselves in a way 
which did not redound to their credit; but the 
bravest of men sometimes turn faint-hearted from 
very horror of the situation, and surely this was 
enough to make the most courageous tremble with 
fear. 

It may be interesting in this connection to state 
that Capt. Frederick Speed was tried by court- 
martial, the trial beginning Jan. 9, 1866, and end- 
ing June 5 of the same year, under two specified 
charges in keeping with the facts as stated in the 
first part of this article, ''That he neglected his 
duty, to the prejudice of good order and military 
discipline ; that he did neglect to avail himself of 
the services of Capt. E. B. Hatch, the Chief Quar- 
termaster of Department of Mississippi, and 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 275 

Capt. W. W. Kerns, Assistant Quartermaster, in 
procuring necessary and safe transportation for 
said paroled prisoners ; ' ' and the charge proceeds 
to say that he usurped authority, arbitrarily 
placed on board the Sultana 1,866 paroled prison- 
ers, against the advice and remonstrance of the 
aforesaid officers, greatly overloading the boat, 
and, in short, making him responsible for the ex- 
plosion and awful loss of life. 

The court-martial convicted the accused. Cap- 
tain Speed, under the charge, after striking out 
certain charges, and he was sentenced to be dis- 
missed from the service. The case was then taken 
before the Bureau of Military Justice, J. Holt, 
Judge Advocate General, and in a very clear and 
logical review of the evidence, he decided that 
Captain Speed was not guilty of the charge pre- 
ferred against him, and in fact exonerated him 
from ail culpability, and he was honorably mus- 
tered out of the service, Sept. 1, 1866. Neither 
did the Judge Advocate cast any censure upon 
the conduct of Captain Williams, but he did state : 
* ' That Captain Hatch felt a consciousness of some 
responsibility for the disaster, is believed to be 
shown by the fact that though three times sub- 
poenaed to give his testimony at the trial, and 
though the trial was prolonged three months that 
his presence might be secured, he refused to obey 
the summons; and that notwithstanding every ef- 
fort was made to compel his presence, the Secre- 
tary of War being finally appealed to, to order 
his arrest for contempt, it was found necessary 
to finish the trial without his evidence.'' This 



276 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

seems in some measure to fix the blame of this 
frightful loss of life on Capt. B. B. Hatch. 

If the scenes herein described, immediately fol- 
lowing the explosion, were heart-rending, no hu- 
man mind can conceive, nor human agency grasp 
the pathetic and heart-breaking sights which met 
the gaze of the beholder, when the dead bodies of 
the victims began to rise to the surface, and were 
taken from the water and laid on the wharf where 
many, unidentified, were held awaiting the action 
of the authorities and the undertakers who, for 
a time, were powerless to dispose of the hundreds 
held for burial. The wharves presented the most 
ghastly appearance with dead bodies strewn 
everywhere. A sort of break-water was formed 
alongside of the wharf and scores of dead bodies 
were fastened to the pier with ropes until some 
fitting disposition could be made of them. To 
gaze into the water and see the glaring eyes, the 
bloated countenances, discolored features, scald- 
ed limbs and mutilated bodies, was indeed a grue- 
some sight. 

The coming of fathers, mothers, sisters, broth- 
ers, relatives and friends, seeking for loved ones, 
hoping yet despairing, shedding tears like rain, 
watching with breaking hearts as each ghastly 
body was lifted from the water, fearing to gaze 
on the marred features, lest the contenance should 
disclose the marks of one beloved — these thoughts 
bring over the reader a feeling of indefinable hor- 
ror and dread of a character which cannot be ex- 
plained, and stamp the loss of the Sultana as one 
of the greatest catastrophes of modern times. 



A LECTURE 

ON 

The Life and Achievements 

OF 

PRESIDENT McKINLEY. 



S)IXTY-ONE years ago, in a little cottage in 
the town of Niles, Trnmbull County, Ohio, a babe 
was born who in the years to come was to play a 
leading part in the history of the nation, and have 
much to do with the settlement of the great 
problems which from time to time have arisen to 
agitate and perplex the people. His name is inti- 
mately associated with the more important events 
of his day, and on them is stamped the impress of 
his strong personality — he is known to ns as- 
William McKinley. 

Go where you will in the broad domain of earth, 
the lives of remarkable men stand conspicuously 
before the world, the landmarks of their genera- 
tion. Napoleon in his day changed the map of all 
Europe ; Martin Luther in his time brought much 
needed reform to the church; Washington was a 
great leader in the struggle for equality and liber- 
ty; the life work of Lincoln was the enfranchise- 
ment of labor, the emancipation of millions and 



278 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

the salvation of the republic; but the deeds of 
William McKinley performed for the benefit, ad- 
vancement and uplifting of mankind are of so 
varied a nature and cover so large a field that it 
is a difficult matter to find his prototype among 
the great and good who have lived in different 
ages and belonged to different nations. 

Careful scrutiny leads to the conclusion that 
the people are divided into two great classes, the 
conservative and the progressive, and that each 
party has its extremists ; the extremist of the con- 
servative party is he who stands with his back 
to the sunshine and cowers and trembles for fear 
some great event may occur to disturb his equa- 
nimity; the extremist of the progressive party 
with boldness of thought and keenness of vision, 
turns his eyes towards the dazzling glare of the 
sunlight in the endeavor to discover something 
new which can be utilized to benefit mankind. 
William McKinley, though in many respects one 
of the most progressive, belongs to the extremist 
of neither class. In him is found a happy medium, 
not so progressive as to be called an extremist, 
nor so conservative as to be charged with f ogyism, 
he stands before the critics of his day as one 
possessing energy without rashness, sweetness of 
disposition without effeminateness, justice tem- 
pered with mercy, dignity with perfect simplicity, 
Christianity without hypocrisy. He stands at the 
head of a class which may well be imitated by the 
youth of the United States, for he was a typical 
American gentleman. 

Every young man and every young woman who 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 279 

aspires to the honors and fame that this world 
can bestow, should select a pattern, and in order 
that the proper development may result, the pat- 
tern should be without a flaw. I know of no 
human character so stainless, no disposition so 
lovely, no mind more pure, no life more worthy of 
imitation than that of William McKinley. 

It is true there is but one perfect pattern, the 
Man of Nazareth, but in his sunny disposition, his 
purity of life, his strict integrity, his child-like 
simplicity, his gentle nature, his greatness of soul, 
his christian example — ^William McKinley may 
be selected as a pattern by the youth who aspires 
to become truly great. 

Like Lincoln he was born of humble parentage, 
and was acquainted with the hardships which 
the earlier settlers of Ohio had to meet and en- 
dure. Like Lincoln he was deprived of the oppor- 
tunity to secure a classical education, and yet by 
constant application he acquired a vast fund of 
practical knowledge which makes him appear both 
erudite and profound. 

No striking characteristic marked his boyhood 
days; he was not a precocious child; there was 
little about him as a boy indicative of his future 
greatness. Retiring in disposition, physically not 
too strong, but healthy, he reached the age of five 
years, the time fixed by common consent, in those 
days, when a boy should start to school. 

I wish the boys and girls of today could under- 
stand, and thoroughly appreciate, what it meant 
at that time to acquire an education — hardships 
to endure, privations to suffer, obstacles to sur- 



280 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

mount such as are not known in this day of ad- 
vanced ideas and superior facilities. 

As a school boy William McKinley was not 
brighter than his fellows. There were probably 
in that school several as apt to learn as he, but 
none were more honest, more truthful, more dili- 
gent, more' obedient, and here are exhibited the 
marks in his early life which were the foundation 
of his future greatness, honesty, truthfulness, dili- 
gence, obedience — four corner stones without 
which no great human structure can be reared. 

After he had attended the public school in Niles 
for a short time, his parents moved to Poland, in 
Mahoning County, where the educational opportu- 
nities were better ; and it was in this village, with 
its spirit of discussion, of ambition, of religious 
fervor, of intense political feeling, that the major 
part of his education was acquired. There is no 
doubt that his moving in an atmosphere of pugna- 
cious denominationalism, bitter pro and antifslav- 
ery debate, considerable temperance agitation, 
and the discussion of new questions constantly 
arising, were strong factors in young McKinley 's 
development. In these debates and discussions he 
sometimes participated; and it was here he took 
his first lessons in forensic combats which, with 
future development, made him a great debater, a 
correct reasoner, and a fine orator. 

Here I wish to emphasize an event in his early 
career to my mind the most important which can 
possibly occur in a young man's life. By his 
mother his youthful steps had been trained to 
tread the path of piety ; from her he had absorbed 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 281 

much religious inspiration; from her he had 
learned of those christian virtues which beautify 
the home. Thus early in life he concluded ^ * rather 
to suffer affliction with the people of God than to 
enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season, '* so he 
gave his heart to God, and his name to the class 
leader of the church, and from that time to the 
day of his death he was a staunch, consistent mem- 
ber, contributing to its aid and bearing its respon- 
sibilities. 

Imbued with an ambiton to attend a school of 
greater pretentions than the Poland Academy, 
McKinley turned to the profession of teaching, 
that stepping stone by means of which so many 
have reached the higher and broader walks of life. 
In a few months he had earned sufficient to enable 
him to attend Allegheny College at Meadville, 
Pa. ; but after he had been a student of that insti- 
tution of learning for a few months, owing chiefly 
to the earnestness , with which he pursued his 
studies, his health failed and he was compelled to 
return home. On his return he learned that his 
father had failed in business which was a sad blow 
to his ambition for thus early in life he had select- 
ed the bar as his profession, and this unexpected 
change in the fortunes of the family seemed to 
make the consummation of his desire a very re- 
mote possibility. Yet with the feeling of a dutiful 
son he manfully shouldered the burden, and la- 
bored to contribute his share to the support of his 
father's family. 

From the foregoing can easily be gathered that 
the early years of the twentieth President of the 



282 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

United States, though not spent in poverty, repre- 
sent that struggle for education and position 
which makes the American character and the 
American spirit one of ceaseless endeavor and un- 
resting ambition. Inured to hardships such as 
the boys of his day had to meet, there was nothing 
in his surroundings calculated to weaken him for 
the great conflict of life. 

At this period the republic had reached a crisis ; 
the conflict between liberty and slavery could no 
longer be delayed. The immortal Lincoln stood 
at the head of the nation; the youth, McKinley, 
was in his humble home in Poland, Ohio. Owing 
to the attitude of the South after Lincoln's elec- 
tion, great excitement prevailed everywhere. The 
President exhausted every means in his power to 
avert the awful calamity which very nearly dis- 
rupted this nation, but without avail. 

The signs were ominous; an awful storm was 
gathering; it broke with crushing fury; old land- 
marks were swept away; the country was laid 
waste; once cheerful homes were made desolate; 
sweethearts wept for their loved ones; mothers 
mourned for their dead; fathers sighed for their 
sons who were slain ; the streams were tinged with 
red; the soil was enriched with richest blood — all 
— all because a race was held in bondage; but, 
thank God, slavery was chained to the neck of 
state's rights and both went down under the 
smoking guns of the republic. The viper, slavery, 
which had wound its slimy coils around the hearts 
of the people of the Southland, and injected its 
deadly poison into the system of the body politic, 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 283 

had to be strangled and crushed, so that every 
man, and every woman, and every child, though 
he were as black as the blackest shades of night, 
or as fair as the whitest lily's bloom, should be 
free; and William McKinJey, now a youth of 
eighteen, burning with a love of liberty and equal 
rights to man, offered himself to his country to 
bring freedom to a downtrodden people. When 
the call came from President Lincoln for volun- 
teers to put down the rebellion, among the first 
whose name was entered on the rolls, thus signi- 
fying his willingness to aid in putting down insur- 
rection, and preserving the life of the nation, was 
that of William McKinley, a plain name, but one 
which, since that critical period, has been sur- 
rounded by a halo of respect, and honor, and 
glory, and love. 

On account of his extreme youth his parents 
were loath to have him enter the great army of 
volunteers who so gallantly responded to Presi- 
dent Lincoln's call; but the stern voice of duty 
whispered in their hearts, as it spoke to him, that 
sacrifices would have to be made, they gave their 
consent, and William McKinley became a private 
in Company E of the Twenty- third Ohio Volun- 
teer Infantry. 

The pale-faced, grey-eyed young patriot now 
flung aside his books, and shouldered his musket 
in the defense of his country; but here again his 
unassuming manner, the promptness with which 
he discharged his duty, his diligence, his obed- 
ience, his devotion to the sacred cause of liberty, 
his executive ability, brought him to the notice of 



284 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

his superior officers, and chiefly through his own 
merit, he stepped from the ranks into a higher 
and more responsible position. 

The story of Antietam is known to every school 
boy and every school girl in the country. The 
Union forces, numbering about 75,000 men, under 
General McClellan, expected to strike a crushing 
blow and demoralize the Confederates under Lee. 
The night of the 16th of September, 1862, found 
both armies well posted, but with the advantage 
favoring Lee's position. The grey of that memor- 
able morning, September 17, rested yet upon the 
earth when the battle of Antietam began. The 
troops were crowded into the fight before break- 
fast, without even their black coffee, the benefit of 
which every soldier knows so well. Hour after 
hour the battle raged, as Burnsides tried to cap- 
ture the lower bridge by which passage could be 
had to the other side of the stream. Hour after 
hour, Hooker on the Union right fought his men 
with a desperation never surpassed. Early in the 
afternoon they were famished and thirsty, and 
then occurred one of those daring deeds which 
only the bravest of the brave undertake and only 
heroes perform. The crisis had come, it was un- 
certain which way the victory would turn, some- 
thing must be done to revive the drooping spirits 
of the men who are dropping out of line from 
sheer exhaustion. At this critical moment a bri- 
gade commissary sergeant, quick to grasp the sit- 
uation and keen to perform what he conceived to 
be his duty, fitted up two wagons with necessary 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 285 

supplies intending to convey them to the hungry- 
men of his regiment. 

His keen grey eyes are flashing, his lips are 
tightly compressed, there is a look of determina- 
tion on his somewhat pale face as he mounts the 
seat and sends the mules off at a gallop. Onward 
they go, flying over the ground; the wagons jolt 
and jump and bound; the bullets whistle, the 
shells burst, the cannon roar ; never flinching, nev- 
er swerving, the driver holds his seat as stoically 
as an Indian brave; now they are enveloped in 
smoke ; one of the mules stumbles and falls ; it is 
up again; on they go; they disappear in a cloud; 
they emerged from the smoke; one of the teams 
is disabled, the other winded and flecked with 
foam, is halted close to the regiment, and amidst 
continued cheers, the hungry men are reciving hot 
coffee and warm meat from the hands of the 
driver! Need I say, the young man who per- 
formed this notable deed was — ^William McKinley. 

His personal courage was put to another test at 
the battle of Kernstown, July 24, 1864. In that 
battle the Union forces were compelled to fall 
back, but one of the regiments still held the posi- 
tion where it had been stationed at the beginning 
of the engagement. General Hayes ordered Mc- 
Kinley to bring away this regiment. Ever prompt 
to obey orders, he turned his horse, and keenly 
spurring it, rode at a gallop obliquely toward the 
advancing enemy. Across the open fields, over 
fences, jumping ditches, with a well directed fire 
from the enemy pouring upon him, enveloped in 
the smoke of exploding shells, his ears greeted 



286 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

with the whistle of passing bullets, he reached 
the regiment, and gave the order to fall back, 
which they did under the brave yonng lieutenant ^s 
lead. When they reached the brigade, General 
Hayes grasped him by the hand, and as a tear 
glistened in his eye, he said : * ^ McKinley, I never 
expected to see you in life again/' 

When General Sheridan made his noted ride, 
**From Winchester twenty miles away,'' he 
passed McKinley on the way, rallying the demor- 
alized men, urging them to make a stand, and or- 
dering them to face about with all the courage and 
coolness of an experienced officer. 

It is not, therefore, surprising that he received 
several promotions, and that his commission as 
major, signed by President Lincoln, reads, ^^For 
gallant and meritorious services at the battles of 
Opequan, Cedar Creek and Fisher's Hill." 

Lee surrenders to the conquering Grant; the 
clamor of war is hushed; peace is proclaimed; 
armies melt away ; the white winged dove spreads 
her pinions over an undivided republic; volun- 
teers return to their homes to resume their usual 
vocations, and Major McKinley finds himself be- 
set with doubts and misgivings as to what course 
in life it is wisest for him to pursue. He finally 
takes up his work where he left it over four years 
before, and becomes a law student in the office 
of Judge Charles E. Glidden. He attended the 
Albany, N. Y., Law School, and in 1867 was ad- 
mitted to the bar. The little village of Poland af- 
forded but a poor field for a struggling young 
lawyer, consequently he decided to remove to the 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 287 

manufacturing town of Canton, Ohio, which af- 
forded a much wider scope for his energy and 
ability. 

In Stark county he tried his first lawsuit ; there 
he entered the political field; there he made his 
first political speech; there he struggled in the 
early days of his profession ; there he became one 
of the first lawyers of his State, and with a lucra- 
tive practice. 

Among his first lawsuits is one very laughable 
incident. John McSweeney was the opposing law- 
yer, and the case was one of damages against a 
doctor for mal-practice in having set the leg of the 
plaintiff so that he was bow-legged. McSweeney 
made his statement, and offered the bare limb of 
the plaintiff in proof, showing that it was very 
much out of line. McKinley then made the re- 
quest that the plaintiff strip his other leg. This 
was strongly opposed by McSweeney, but the 
court ruled that it was proper cross-examination, 
and when the leg was exposed, it was found to be 
crookeder than the one which had been broken. 
McKinley then moved that the case be dismissed 
with the recommendation that the plaintiff have 
the defendant break his well leg and straighten it 
for him. 

Having passed through the war, it was but nat- 
ural that he should return to his home a member 
of the Republican party, and a believer in its prin- 
ciples. He was welcomed to the ranks of that par- 
ty, was selected as their candidate for prosecut- 
ing attorney in 1869, and in the fall election car- 
ried Stark County. 



288 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

It soon became apparent to the politicians of 
that time that he was destined to occupy a more 
prominent position, and assume graver responsi- 
bilities than those which had hitherto rested upon 
him, and it was not a surprise when in 1876 he an- 
nounced himself as a candidate for Congress. It 
was not a matter of surprise that he became a can- 
didate, but the result came with astonishing force 
to the older politicians. He swept everything in 
his own county, was successful in other counties 
of the district, and was nominated in the Congres- 
sional convention on the first ballot. He brought 
into the campaign a force which no opposition 
could withstand, and was triumphantly elected by 
a handsome majority. 

From the day he took his seat in the House till 
he left the floor of Congress to assume a more im- 
portant position in his own State, the opposing 
political party recognized in him their most for- 
midable opponent, and by every device known to 
wily politicians, they attempted his defeat at each 
succeeding congressional election; but all their 
eiforts proved futile — each time he overcame all 
opposition, and for fourteen years represented 
the district in Congress of which Stark County 
formed a part. 

During all the time he served in Congress ^* tar- 
iff" was the leading question. It was discussed 
in the House, threshed over in the Senate, and 
formed the main topic of discussion in each polit- 
ical campaign. William McKinley was a pro- 
tectionist, so much so that ^^ McKinley and Pro- 
tection'' became synonymous terms. His argu- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 289 

ments on the subject were so forcible, his logic so 
incontrovertible, his manner so captivating, his 
sincerity so apparent, his simplicity so admirable, 
that a member of Congress who occupied a seat 
with the opposition said he always had to fortify 
himself mentally to avoid being carried away with 
his eloquence. 

The same diligence, the sam-O promptness in 
the discharge of his duty, the same dignified sim- 
plicity, the same honesty of purpose, the same 
tireless energy which he had so strikingly dis- 
played in other vocations, marked his course in 
Congress. In the election of 1888 the Republican 
party was victorious ; but they had only a nominal 
majority, and yet by his masterly management, 
under circumstances of peculiar difficulty, he suc- 
ceeded in getting his tariff bill, generally known 
as the ^'McKinley bill," enacted into law. It 
proved unpopular with the country at large, and 
in the November election following, he was defeat- 
ed for another term in Congress, and a general 
landslide occurred in favor of Mr. Cleveland's 
policy of tariff reform. 

I cannot pass over Mr. McKinley's Congres- 
sional career without referring in most emphatic 
terms to the firm^ stand he always maintained in 
regard to the common people. The first political 
speech he made was in favor of the down-troden 
and oppressed colored man. He especially distin- 
guished himself in defending a number of miners 
who were prosecuted for riot. He was deep I v in 
sympathy with the wage-workers, and it was 
through this sympathy that he became a careful 



290 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

investigator of industrial questions. How to bet- 
ter the condition of the wage-earners was ever 
his theme. Whether his views were always 
correct, is not at present a subject of discussion, 
but his sincerity of purpose is, and always will re- 
main, unquestioned. His tariff bill was framed 
for American laborers and American homes, and 
was supported with all his ability and all his 
knowledge of ecomonical problems, because his 
great, generous nature was in sympathy with the 
laboring man. His bill was much greater in de- 
feat than in operation, for in its revision as the 
Dingley bill it has brought to the American peo- 
ple a large portion of the prosperity which they 
now enjoy. 

As I have already stated, in the election of 1890, 
the country went overwhelmingly democratic, and 
although Mr. McKinley succeeded in reducing the 
normal Democratic majority of his district from 
2,900 to a little over 300, he went down to defeat 
in the avalanche of public opinion which had been 
aroused against the high protective features of 
his tariff law. His opponents were very jubilant 
over their success, and predicted that his defeat 
would compel him to retire from public life; but 
they little knew the character of the man, nor had 
they a true appreciation of the estimation in 
which he was held by the citizens of his native 
State. His downfall as a Congressman only has- 
tened the inevitable. The loss of his seat in Con- 
gress placed him in the gubernatorial chair of 
Ohio. He was nominated as the Republican can- 
didate for governor by acclamation. 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 291 

In all the history of the Buckeye State, with its 
many interesting political campaigns, never was 
one so stubbornly contested as was that of 1891. 
State politics were entirely eliminated. The con- 
test was on national issues, on the tariff, on pro- 
tection. He visited every county in the State, he 
spoke night and day, at all hours, at all places. 
With such eloquence and passion did he defend 
his principles, that thousands and tens of thou- 
sands flocked to hear him. It was my good for- 
tune to be in Ohio at the time, and to attend one 
of his meetings, when he spoke in the open air 
to over 8,000 people. I well remember the compli- 
ment paid him by an opponent who listened to 
his forcible argument. He said: *^If 5,000 men 
heard Mr. McKinley discuss the tariff question, 
there would be 5,000 men who could go out the 
next day and make a good speech on the same 
topic.'' When I asked him why he said this, he 
replied: *^'He makes it so clear that a child ten 
years of age can understand it.'' I have always 
thought that Democrat voted for McKinley for 
governor. 

He conducted such a magnificent campaign, he 
defended the principles of protection so logically, 
his speeches were so free from invectives, his per- 
suasive powers were so seductive, that his oppo- 
nent objected to listening to him for fear he became 
a convert to his high protective theory. To such 
a campaign there could be but one ending— he was 
elected to be governor of Ohio. 

After he had served two years as the chief exec- 
utive of the State he was again renominated by 



292 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

acclamation, and defeated his opponent, Larry 
Neal, by more than 80,000 majority. A few days 
before his second election, and when it was no 
longer a question of victory, but of majority, I 
was traveling on the train between Lima and Fin- 
lay, and Mr. Neal, Mr. McKinley's opponent, was 
on the same train. During the course of the jour- 
ney, a very pompous gentlem^an, who had learned 
that Mr. Neal was aboard the train, came along 
from the rear end of the car and when he was 
opposite Mr. Neal, he held out his hand and said : 
^'When I get home I shall tell my wife and chil- 
dren I had the pleasure of shaking hands with the 
next governor of Ohio." Mr. Neal replied by 
saying : ^ ' You are probably mistaken in the man. 
You should see Mr. McKinley.'^ I have always 
liked Larry Neal for that manly expression. It 
showed he realized he was defeated, and was not 
ashamed to admit the truth, a condition from 
which most politicians shrink. It was no dis- 
grace to be defeated by one who stood so high in 
the estimation of the people, and occupied so 
warm a place in their hearts as did William Mc- 
Kinley. 

For four years Wm. McKinley was the chief 
executive of the great State of Ohio. During that 
time he conducted the executive department with 
credit to himself and satisfaction to his constit- 
uents. Chiefly through his recommendation and 
exertions, many needed reforms were introduced; 
the state institutions were improved ; the question 
of tax reform was given attention ; the eight-hour 
system for laborers was advocated; the arbitra- 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 293 

tion system for the settlement of disputes between 
employer and employee was put into operation; 
laws were passed for the greater protection of life 
and limb in industrial pursuits. During his sec- 
ond term as governor, strikes and other disturb- 
ances prevailed, and the militia was called out on 
several occasions; property was protected; the 
law was enforced, and yet without injustice to 
either party to the disputes. 

To show how fully he was in sympathy with the 
poor and the oppressed, and how readily he re- 
sponded when help was needed, I give the follow- 
ing of which I was an eye-witness. During the 
Hocking Valley strike word was sent to Governor 
McKinley that the miners' families were without 
food, and unless prompt measures were taken, 
starvation would be the result. The telegram con- 
taining this information reached its destination 
at 11:20 P. M. Several of those who heard the 
telegram read said it was no use to take it to the 
governor that night, as nothing could be done till 
morning; but others insisted that the governor 
should see the telegram, and their wishes pre- 
vailed. The telegram was taken to his room. 
Within five minutes he was in the corridor of the 
hotel, and when one gentleman said to him : ^ ' Gov- 
ernor, the stores are all closed, and nothing can be 
done till morning," he replied: ^'When men are 
hungry, women are starving and children are cry- 
ing for bread, it is not a time to say nothing can 
be done. Let us get the stores open, buy some 
provisions and load the stuff on the cars ready to 
go south tomorrow morning.'' With his master 



294 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

hand at the helm, committees were appointed, the 
stores were opened, goods were purchased, drays 
were procured, the provisions were carted to the 
depot, loaded on the car, and by five o'clock the 
next morning were speeding southward to save 
those dying people. Do you wonder that the peo- 
ple loved him! Ohio has had many good govern- 
ors — McKinley ranks among the best. 

In all his splendid career nothing shows the 
sterling qualities of the man so conspicuously as 
the honorable course he pursued in the two na- 
tional conventions to which he was sent as a dele- 
gate. Had he wavered for a moment in his loyalty 
to those to whom his support was pledged, had he 
but entered an equivocal protest, or had he re- 
mained silent, in all probability he would have 
been nominated. Pause for a moment and think 
what was involved in the situation. A nomination 
for the presidency of the United States at the 
sacrifice of his honor, was a temptation which 
would have caused a less honorable man to stum- 
ble and fall. Not so with William McKinley; 
honor was dearer to him than his life, and while 
the chance of preferment hung temptingly before 
him, he was able, through the magnificent strength 
of his character, to push the tempting bait aside 
and wait a future opportunity. 

Many here can recall the circumstances of the 
convention of 1888, when the Ohio delegates were 
pledged to the support of John Sherman for Pres- 
ident. From the first, one or two stray votes 
stood opposite McKinley 's name to which little 
attention was paid, but from two the number rose 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 295 

to fourteen, and the situation was alarming. Tele- 
grams began to pour in from Washington urging 
his nomination, a stampede was imminent, the 
next ballot might give him a majority over all. 
Then it was that his high sense of honor and loy- 
alty stood out in bold relief. He sprang to his 
feet, and in a voice which thrilled the assembly, 
he demanded that no more votes should be cast 
for him in that convention. His wishes were re- 
spected, and although John Sherman, whom he so 
loyally supported, did not receive the nomination, 
McKinley stood before the world a man of the 
strictest honor and the highest integrity. 

An incident similar to the above occurred in 
1892 when Mr. McKinley was pledged in honor to 
support President Harrison. At that convention 
when the Ohio delegation was reached, in the roll 
call, the vote was announced, '^44 votes for Mc- 
Kinley, ' ' the correctness of which was immediate- 
ly challenged by Mr. McKinley, who had been 
made chairman of the convention; but he was in- 
formed that he was no longer a member of the 
delegation, having yielded his place to his alter- 
nate when he became chairman; but he was too 
experienced a politician to have his desires 
thwarted by a shrewd move of the shrewd Joseph 
B. Foraker. He immediately called another gen- 
tleman to the chair, and taking his place as a del- 
egate, in most emphatic terms he demanded that 
the vote of the Ohio delegation be polled; and al- 
though his was the only vote changed to Harrison, 
it stemmed the tide in McKinley 's favor, and 
made Harrison the nominee of the convention. 



296 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

Twice the nomination for President was within 
his grasp; twice he was called upon to exercise 
the greatest fortitude ever displayed by mortal 
man; and on each occasion he was undaunted in 
his loyalty to his friends, and stood before the 
people the embodiment of honor and sincerity of 
purpose. 

From the beginning of the national campaign 
of 1892, premonitions of defeat seemed to stare 
Eepublicans in the face! Cleveland's short, crisp 
sentence, ^^The tariff is a tax" imbued the people 
with a desire to be emancipated from so grievous 
a burden. They asked for a change, and it came, 
and while it is not within the province of this lec- 
ture to discuss the various causes leading up to 
the conditions following that change, it is admis- 
sible to state that no such dark pall of calamity 
had ever hung over the nation as was experienced 
during those four terrible years. 

It is, therefore, but reasonable to suppose that, 
having tried a period of tariff reform reaching up 
to 1896, the eyes of the people, or at least that 
portion of them who believed in a protective pol- 
icy, would be turned towards him whose name 
stood for protection to American industries, who 
was the leader of his party, the exponent of its 
economic theories of government and their appli- 
cation and administration. Long before the St. 
Louis convention, it was conceded that he would 
be chosen as the standard-bearer of his party. 
The claims of his friends were verified, and he 
was nominated on the first ballot. 

In addition to the tariff question as one of the 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 297 

leading topics of discussion, the *^free and unlim- 
ited coinage of silver at a ratio of 16 to 1 regard- 
less of any other nation on earth/' which had 
been receiving considerable attention, now surged 
to the front and became the foremost issue of the 
campaign — a campaign which excited greater in- 
terest, and stirred the nation to profounder 
depths than any previous campaign in the history 
of the United States. The momentous interests 
involved, the radical changes to be inaugurated, 
the tremendous effects upon the financial world, 
caused the most intense interest to be taken by all 
classes. Laborers, farmers, merchants, artisans, 
professional men, neglected their business to dis- 
cuss the money question. In doleful terms the 
sound money advocates depicted the terrible dis^ 
asters which would follow its success. In glowing 
colors the supporters of the '^new doctrine" 
painted the benefits to be derived, until some be- 
lieved that with the ushering in of the ^^new dis- 
pensation '^ the millennium would dawn, and all 
the people would rejoice. During this memorable 
contest William McKinley remained at his home 
in Canton, 0., the same, calm, courteous, self-pos- 
sessed, affable gentleman whom the people had 
learned to know so thoroughly and love so well. 
In fact for him to do justice to the people, it 
was necessary that he remain at home to greet 
the thousands and tens of thousands who visited 
him. Delegations of labor organizations, of 
tradesmen, of professional men; delegations of 
railroad engineers, of conductors, of brakemen, of 
switchmen; delegations of sight-seers, of curio 



298 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

Imnters; delegations from the different avenues 
of life ; delegations from the North, and the South, 
gathered around that modest Canton home, each 
good-naturedly vieing with the other to he the first 
to receive a welcome from him who was the cynos- 
ure of all eyes. 

What a field for retrospective thought ! It was 
here he struggled as a young attorney; it was 
here he won his first success at the har; it was 
here he laid the foundation of the eminence on 
which he now stands. The mind is carried back 
to his struggles for an education; we live over 
again with him the hardships and dangers of the 
war; we hear him once more as he delivers that 
memorable speech in opposition to Fernando 
Wood's non-protective tariff bill; we see him as 
he walks the floor of the governor's chambers in 
Columbus, wracking his brain to devise plans to 
settle strikes without bloodshed; we watch him 
with admiration as he plans to raise funds for 
those strikers in distress; we listen to him with 
awe as he stands before the national convention, 
insists no votes be polled for him, and with all 
the power of his vigorous manhood demands that 
his honor shall be kept unsullied; we hear his 
calm, well-modulated voice as he addresses a dele- 
gation of laboring men, and his voice vibrates 
with sympathy as he extends to them words of 
good cheer and encouragement; we listen to his 
polished words as he receives a delegation of col- 
lege professors; we are astonished at his tact in 
handling men, and we are ready to admit he has 
justly won the name, ^^The Great Harmonizer. ' ' 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 299 

Election day came, and by a decided majority in 
the electoral college, and an overwhelming popu- 
lar vote, he became the chief executive of the 
greatest republic and the greatest nation in the 
world. 

When President McKinley was inaugurated the 
country was in a deplorable condition. Factories 
were closed, men were out of employment and de- 
pression along all lines reigned supreme. Mr. 
McKinley as the exponent of the Eepublican par- 
ty had advocated that it was not a change in the 
monetary system of the country, but a revision of 
the tariff schedules which was needed to bring 
about more prosperous conditions, therefore the 
people had a right to demand that his remedy be 
applied as speedily as possible. There was no 
shirking of responsibility. As soon as possible 
after Congress convened the Dingley bill was in- 
troduced, passed the House, went to the Senate, 
passed that body with numerous amendments, was 
sent to the conference committee and after ten 
daj^s a compromise between House and Senate 
was effected, and the bill became a law July 14, 
1897. This tariff legislation known as the Dingley 
bill was but a rehabilitation of the McKinley law, 
and while I wish to say nothing derogatory to, or 
in the defense of, the Dingley law, candor com- 
pels me to admit that after its passage business 
prospects immediately brightened, showing, so 
Eepublicans claim, the wisdom of Mr. McKinley 's 
contention that a revision of the tariff would im- 
prove the business outlook. 

As difficult of solution as was the tariff proposi- 



300 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

tion, and as much as the question required imme- 
diate attention and settlement, left by the outgo- 
ing administration was another problem of mo- 
mentous import, and one, to, which would brook 
of little delay — the question of the liberation of 
Cuba from Spanish domination and tyranny. 

For hundreds of years the Spanish yoke of op- 
pression had been worn by the patriotic Cubans. 
On various occasions they had striven to free 
themselves from this galling yoke, but all their 
efforts had been in vain, and now they are en- 
gaged in a death struggle for independence and 
liberty. The eyes of all nations were turned to- 
wards this great republic, questioning what this 
government proposed to do to relieve a condition 
which had become almost intolerable. 

About this time General Weyler had taken 
charge of affairs in Cuba, and all insurgent sym- 
pathizers had been ordered to leave their homes 
and report in the different towns — a heartless 
edict through which thousands and tens of thou- 
sands of these poor creatures died of starvation. 
This inhuman act made the blood of the American 
people boil with indignation ; but the climax of 
righteous wrath was reached when the reports of 
senators, who visited Cuba to ascertain the exact 
facts, were made public. The whole country was 
in a furor of excitement, and there was imminent 
danger that some of our most conservative states- 
men and wisest diplomats would fly oif at a tan- 
gent and precipitate a conflict damaging both to this 
country and to the Cuban patriots. Inflammatory 
speeches were delivered in Congress, not only by 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 301 

members of the party politically opposed to the 
administration, but by some of the President's 
former adherents, wherein he was accused of be- 
ing controlled by the money power, and of not 
having the courage to end the intolerable condi- 
tion. 

We were on the eve of a war with a foreign na- 
tion ; were about to be called upon to demonstrate 
our boasted strength ; the eyes of the people of all 
civilized countries were turned upon us; the diplo- 
mats of all nations, especially those of monarchial 
forms of government, were on the alert to dis- 
cover how the greatest republic in the world 
would comport itself in a period of extreme diffi- 
culty; political critics, not of foreign countries 
alone, like vultures were hovering in the air wait- 
ing to pounce upon the carcass and feed upon the 
putrid flesh of a dead republic. Those who were 
clamoring for immediate war lost sight of the 
fact that certain preparations are necessary be- 
fore a great work can be carried to a succesful 
consummation; but the President had carefully 
investigated the situation; calmly and with far- 
seeing ability, he had weighed all the facts, and 
neither the abuse of his enemies nor the stormy 
words of his friends, could move him from the 
course which his conscience and his judgment dic- 
tated was calculated to bring needed help to the 
suffering and credit and honor to the nation. He 
saw that which others failed or refused to see, 
that from a military standpoint we were not ready 
to cope with a foreign power in modern warfare. 
Knowing this as the President knew it, he stood 



302 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 

firm as a rock, moved neither by the rash advice 
of his friends, nor the abuse of his enemies, until 
in his calm judgment we were in a great measure 
prepared for the conflict. 

The President, who had passed through the 
greatest civil war in the history of the world, 
knew the sad consequences which, if war was de- 
clared, must result. He knew that once war was 
declared, the blood of some of our bravest young 
men would enrich Cuban soil; many a father's 
head would be bowed low in sorrow ; many a moth- 
er 's heart would cry in vain for her darling boy; 
many a sister would weep for a brother slain in 
battle ; many a loved one would depart from home 
to return again no more. 

As did Lincoln before the breaking out of the 
civil war, President McKinley exerted every ef- 
fort to turn aside the dreadful calamity ; and there 
are those today who adhere firmly to the opinion 
that but for the immoderate utterances of certain 
members of Congress, coupled with the destruc- 
tion of the Maine in Havana harbor, the question 
of Cuban independence would have been peace- 
fully settled with satisfaction to Spain, liberty to 
Cuba, and credit and honor to this republic. Un- 
fortunately, however, for the amicable settlement 
of the difficulty, this almost unparalleled disaster 
threw the country into the wildest excitement, and 
drove all prospects of peace from the minds of 
the people. Through this awful deed the excite- 
ment prevailing in the country increased a thou- 
sand fold, and a very pandemonium of indigna- 
tion again broke out in Washington. President 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 303 

McKinley, with his usual calmness and quiet de- 
liberation, advised caution and patience till a 
naval board of inquiry proceeded to Havana to 
investigate the cause of the explosion. As soon 
as that report was received it was transmitted to 
Congress, accompanied by his message, which 
ended with the following impressive words : 

^^The issue is now with Congress. It is a sol- 
emn responsibility. I have exhausted every ef- 
fort to relieve the intolerable condition of affairs 
which is at our doors. Prepared to execute every 
obligation imposed upon me by the constitution 
and the law I await your action. '* 

While circumstances were shaping themselves 
to bring a declaration of war between the two 
powers, the greatest activity prevailed in every 
department of government service. All the pow- 
ers of the government were being exerted to have 
everything in readiness when the clash came. 
The giant republic of the western hemisphere had 
doffed her habiliments of peace, donned her armor 
of battle, and stood before the world, the cham- 
pion of liberty and the defender of the down-trod- 
den and the oppressed. 

War was declared April 21, 1898, and standing 
on an eminence above the turmoil, and confusion, 
and excitement, and clamour of that time, is a 
calm, prudent, experienced, honorable, courage- 
ous gentleman whose keen vision has grasped the 
situation from the beginning, and to whose fore- 
thought and judicious management, in a great 
measure, is due the splendid achievements of our 
navy at sea and our army on the land. Beginning 



304 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

with the capture of the Spanish ship ^^Buena 
Ventura'^ by the gunboat Nashville and ending 
with the destruction of the Spanish fleet at San- 
tiago, and the victories of the American army in 
Cuba, not forgetting Dewey's splendid achieve- 
ments in Manila harbor, there had been prose- 
cuted for one hundred days, in some respects, one 
of the most remarkable wars in history. 

The hand of him who was at the helm, and con- 
ducted the war which brought peace and liberty 
to Cuba, and placed the Philippine Islands under 
the protection of the United States, is now stilled 
in death, but the work which he accomplished will 
live as long as the history of the nation, and his 
name will shine with ever increasing lustre among 
the bright stars in the firmament of the republic's 
greatest lights. 

This war, though of short duration, has been 
the means, more than anything which has oc- 
curred since the civil strife of the sixties, of pro- 
moting an era of good-fellowship between North 
and South, and none knew better than President 
McKinley how to encourage that feeling of friend- 
ship and love that should exist among the people 
of one country. Listen to his words at Atlanta — 
words which should act as an inspiration in North 
and South today: 

^^ Reunited — one country again and one country 
forever ! Proclaim it from the press and the pul- 
pit; teach it in the schools; write it across the 
skies ! The world sees and feels it ; it cheers every 
heart. North and South, and brightens the life of 
every American home. Let nothing ever strain it 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme. 305 

again. At peace with all the world and with each 
other, what can stand in the pathway of our pro- 
gress and prosperity r* 

I wish here to direct your minds to a remark- 
able incident in President McKinley's life. Years 
before he had performed a notable deed, as a com- 
missary sergeant, on the field at Antietam. He 
stands once more on that old battle ground over 
which he had dashed with supplies for the soldiers 
of his brigade — the chief magistrate of the great- 
est country in the world, and these are his words : 

^'Standing here today one reflection only has 
crowded my mind, the difference between this 
scene and that of thirty-eight years ago. Then 
the men who wore the blue and the men 
who wore the grey greeted each other with 
shot and shell, and visited death upon their 
respective ranks. We meet after all these 
intervening years, with but one sentiment — 
that of loyalty to the government of the United 
States, love of our flag and of our free institu- 
tions, and determined men of the North and men 
of the South, to make any sacrifice for the honor 
and perpetuity of the American nation. ' ' 

President McKinley's nomination for a second 
term was conceded long before the time for hold- 
ing the convention rolled around ; and his election 
to succeed himself was a foregone conclusion. 

The same gentleman who so fiercely contested 
his election in 1896, was once more his opponent; 
and in additon to the tariff and money questions, 
the new issue of ^^Imperialism'' was sprung upon 
the people, but without avail. The people ap- 



306 ThougMs m Prose and Rhyme, 

peared to be satisfied with existing conditions, and 
when the battle of ballots was over, the result 
proved that the country had confidence in the wise 
administration and honorable course pursued by 
President McKinley and his cabinet. By a larger 
popular vote and a greater number of votes in the 
electoral college than he had in 1896, he was again 
elected to occupy the proud position of chief exec- 
utive of a country numbering 80,000,000 of free 
people. 

From the place where he was born, a child of 
humble parentage, we have followed President 
McKinley through all the vicissitudes of life. We 
have traveled with him from the modest home of 
his parents to the White House, and we have dis- 
covered that he was respected and loved by all the 
people. The people loved that boy — ^honest, at- 
tentive, and diligent at school. The people loved 
that youth — striving to complete his education. 
The people loved that young soldier — fighting for 
his country. The people loved that county attor- 
ney—striving to be just, yet merciful. The people 
loved that husband — devoted to his beautiful wife. 
The people loved that eloquent lawyer — ^pleading 
for the poor and the oppressed. The people loved 
that politician — true as the needle to the pole to 
his friends. The people loved that Congressman 
— fighting courageously to benefit mankind. The 
people loved that governor — feeding the poor, 
righting the wrongs of State, and fearlessly ad- 
ministering its affairs. The people loved that 
President — mighty in war, great in peace. The 



Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 307 

people loved that citizen — pure, and kind, and 
noble, and great, and good. 

William McKinley was a splendid citizen, a 
brave soldier, a brilliant statesman, a wise ruler 
and withal a christian gentleman. His life and 
public services are a part of our country's most 
thrilling history; and no grander record of daz- 
zling achievements can be placed under the name 
of any man of modern times. Not merely in intel- 
lect, eloquence, and far-seeing statesmanship, not 
merely as a political leader and advocate of our 
national industries, welfare and great prosperity, 
but as a man of noble virtues and exalted charac- 
ter, the life of President McKinley challenges the 
admiration of the world. 

The master statesman of his age, the magnetic 
leader of his party, the gallant defender of Amer- 
ican rights, the idol of the nation, he stands and 
will ever stand, as one of the most conspicuous 
figures in the history of his country. 

Clear in his grasp of public questions, eloquent 
in advocating his principles, considerate and len- 
ient towards his opponents, affable in all his in- 
tercourse wth others, simplicity permeating every 
fibre of his being, and with it all a disposition so 
sweet, so gentle, so lovable as to endear him to 
all those with whom he came in contact. Eunning 
through all his life was a thread of purest gold — 
his christian virtues. Shining as a diamond of 
purest water — ^his christian example. Countless 
thousands, coming and going, with the inexorable 
march of time, will pause to view the great land- 
mark inscribed with President McKinley 's name; 



308 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

and as generation after generation marches past 
in grand array, no nobler character will be found, 
no name inscribed on memory's sacred page, will 
more fragrant be than that of William McKinley. 

I have now reached the last page in the history 
of him of whom it can be said, he was true to him- 
self, true to his country, and true to his God. 
Would to heaven it had never been written! 
Would to heaven that no such dastardly crime 
should be recorded in the annals of our history ! 

I cannot give a full account of the assassination 
of President McKinley, neither am I disposed, at 
any length, to dwell on this last, sorrowful chap- 
ter. Much rather would I dwell on the good per- 
formed by him whose name will always be cher- 
ished by the American people as among the great- 
est and best of mankind. **The deeds which men 
do live after them,'' and the deeds which William 
McKinley wrought will live as long as time shall 
continue. They will live in the great beyond, and 
saints and angels will sing praise that a human 
soul was able to accomplish so much to benefit and 
bless mankind! 

When such a great undertaking as the Pan- 
American Exposition, involving the expenditure 
of millions of dollars, and bringing together mil- 
lions of people from every quarter of the world, 
was in progress, it was expected that the Presi- 
dent of the country would be invited to partici- 
pate in its operations. 

President McKinley arrived in Buffalo and de- 
livered his famous address at the Pan-American 
Exposition, September 5 — an address which will 



Thoughts in Prose cmd Rhyme. 309 

be handed down to each succeeding generation as 
one of the finest ever delivered by any public man 
before any great assemblage of people. This 
splendid address was delivered September 5, and 
on September 6 the fatal shot was fired which 
brought President McKinley's magnificent career 
to an untimely end, September 14, 1901 — this aw- 
ful shot which was heard around the world, which 
caused crowned heads to bow in sorrow, and made 
the best people of all nations shed tears of sincer- 
est grief. I cannot dwell upon the scene. My 
heart is yet stricken with grief that one so good, 
so pure, so just, so kind, so brave, so great, so 
lovable and so loved should perish at the hand of 
a miscreant whose very name I abhor. I shall not 
dwell on the grief and indignation which swept 
like a mighty billow over the sorrowing hearts of 
this great nation. I shall not dwell on the period 
of hope, and grief, and fear, and prayer through 
which the nation passed, while the wounded Pres- 
ident hovered between life and death at Milbourn 
House, Buffalo. I shall not ask you to remember 
the mighty feeling of sympathy which welled up 
in the heart of every true man and every true 
woman for his grief-stricken wife in her awful 
sorrow, for as long as life shall last a silent tear 
will gently fall for that amiable and beautiful 
lady whom the whole nation is delighted to honor. 
I wish rather to lead you, calmly, quietly, gent- 
ly, without a whisper, without a sound, with head 
bowed down and tearful eyes, to the bedside of 
our dying President. I want you to note how a 
great man meets his greatest foe — the common 



310 Thoughts in Prose and Rhyme, 

foe of man. I want you to know how a good man 
dies! Step softly. You are in the presence of 
death. Weeker and weeker beats the pulse. Dim- 
mer and dimmer grow the eyes. Fainter and 
fainter are the heart beats. His lips move. He is 
about to speak. Bend you heads forward and 
hear his low, sweet voice as he chants the words 
of his favorite hymn : 

Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer, to Thee! 
E'en tho' it be a cross 

That raiseth me; 
Still all my song shall be. 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer, to Thee, 

Draw nearer and hear his dying words : ^ ^ Good 
bye, all; good bye. It is God's way. His will be 
done." He falls into calm and peaceful slumber. 
It is all over. He is dead. He is dead, and the 
nations of the earth mourn his loss. 




9 1905 



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